The Code Breaker
by Aduro
Summary: Sequel to The Code. Draco's part of a team of code breakers, translating messages from Ministry spies overseas because of Death Eater threats. Bill is a contact in France.7th year, not HBP compliant, summary inside
1. Letters

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, hence, I don't have a lot of money.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hey look! The sequel is up! For those of you who haven't read The Code, you should if you want to understand this story. I mean, it's not vital, but it probably would help.

Summary: Bill is a contact for spies overseas, and sends the information they gather in coded messages. Draco is Bill's code breaker, and he's back in England for seventh year, but there are a lot of surprises in store for him, like the niece he never knew he had. Now, he finds himself opposing the Dark Lord, in the process of getting disowned (the paper work takes forever to go through), rescuing Harry from his relatives in a convertible, getting captured by Death Eaters, and meeting, very briefly, one Sirius Black, who comes back to life. He is also discovering exactly what having friends is like. Luckily, Bill will be there for him, and no, it is NOT slash for those of you who are wondering.

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Chapter 1

Letters

Bill waited outside the Headmaster's office, a letter from Draco Malfoy in his pocket and another from the Minister of Magic in his hands. He had received it a week ago and it detailed a network of informants that the Minister wished to set up to keep tabs on the growing threat of Death Eaters across seas. It was relatively simple.

There were to be spies in other countries, not actually spying in on the meetings, but keeping their ears open, and getting in contact with the types of people that would be working for the Dark Lord. They would then give their information to a contact in that country, who would be in charge of coding the messages. They would then be sent back to England to a decoder, who would translate the messages and then relay them to the Aurors.

Fudge had finally wised up and put Dumbledore in charge of the operation, and then had asked Bill to be a contact in France. Because Bill had gotten married in early June, and because he had found out in late June that Fleur was pregnant, he had been wary to join. The consequences would be doubly harsh if he was caught because he had escaped Voldemort once already, and he had a family depending on him. In hopes to persuade him, the Minister had allowed him to pick any code breaker he wished, as long as said decoder was willing and that he cleared it with Dumbledore.

That was why he was in Hogwarts in early August, waiting for the Headmaster.

The door opened and Dumbledore appeared at the door, stepping back to let him in.

"My apologies for making you wait, William," he said, smiling in greeting.

"Perfectly alright, Headmaster," said Bill, taking a seat and then taking the proffered lemon drop. Dumbledore regained his seat behind his parchment covered desk and looked at him with twinkling eyes.

"And how is your lovely wife today?"

Bill got that feeling of absolute wonder in his chest whenever the words 'your wife' were used to describe Fleur and he knew he must be beaming.

"She's doing well, though Mum is already trying to fill our house with loads of baby things."

Dumbledore got a knowledgeable look in his eyes. "I suppose she must be ready for her first grandchild."

"And everyone else is ready to be an uncle or an aunt," agreed Bill. "We'll have the most spoiled child in all of England."

Dumbledore chuckled, but then grew serious. "I suppose you are here to give me your answer about being a contact then."

"Yes," said Bill. He took a breath. "Fleur and I talked it over, and we decided that I will go to France to be a contact."

"Thank you, William," said Dumbledore sincerely. "And the Order will be checking in with Fleur everyday when you are gone, and there is always a room for her in Headquarters."

"Thank you," said Bill.

"Have you decided who you want to be for your code breaker yet?"

"Actually, yes," said Bill. "That's part of the reason why I'm here."

"Who is it?" asked Dumbledore.

Bill took a breath. "Draco Malfoy," he said.

Dumbledore actually looked surprised, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

"Draco Malfoy?" he asked, and then he leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I suppose there is more to this than currently meets the eye?"

"You were the one that said that there was something about him," said Bill. "What made you say that?"

"Minerva says that it's wishful thinking," said Dumbledore. "That I feel that I have failed Lucius in some way and so now I am trying to see some good in his son. Perhaps she is right. Lucius was…he was smart, but very misguided. I tried, in the past, to reach out to boys like him, from families with extreme prejudices, but my efforts merely worsened the conflict, especially with Tom. I think those students could tell that I was more concerned about those who were being oppressed, than those who were being told to do the oppressing."

"Were you?" asked Bill.

"It is easier to feel pity for the oppressed than for the oppressor, even when the oppressor is just as much a victim. It took me a while to see that and that cost me many students."

"But Draco?" asked Bill.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Draco…

"_Hello, Madam Pince," said Dumbledore, smiling at the sight of the strict librarian who was glaring over the rim of her spectacles at the noisy students._

"_Albus," said the librarian, then to the children, who were at the tables, "If you are not going to be quiet, you can leave!"_

"_Oh, come now," said Dumbledore soothingly. "They are just children. They learn by interaction."_

"_Yes, but this is a library," said the witch in a huff. "Is there anything I can do for you?"_

"_Yes, actually," said Dumbledore. "I'm looking for the Rare Magical Creatures Limited Edition."_

"_Someone's already using it," said the librarian._

"_Indeed?" asked Dumbledore, wondering if someone had come to the same conclusion he had. He tried to think of who it might be. Hermione Granger was a sharp one, and no doubt she would be interested, but Richard Terrington, Ravenclaw 5th year, was the smartest boy in the school._

"_Right over there," said Pince, pointing to a far table._

_Dumbledore could make out a slight figure and he nodded his thanks and walked over to the lone student. As he drew closer he could make out the white-blond hair of Lucius Malfoy's only child, who would be a second year, same as Harry. _

_The boy was small for his age, small and skinny when he had every right to be overweight with how much his parents could afford, but then again, Narcissa had always been preoccupied with her own figure and the amount of food she ate, and he wondered if it could have been passed down to one so young._

_And Draco Malfoy did look very young, sitting in the lotus position on the chair, the large book in his lap, writing on a piece of parchment. His hair was slicked back, as usual, but now it was coming undone and was slightly mussed. Dumbledore pulled out a chair and sat, watching as the cold grey eyes turned to him, a faint flicker of surprise shining for a second underneath all of the ice, but then it was gone._

"_Hello, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore kindly._

"_Headmaster," said the child, nodding ever-so-slightly, like an emperor nodding to a subject. "Is there something you would wish to discuss?" _

_The child was wary, he could hear it in his polite, formal tone._

"_Not at all," said Dumbledore. "I was just about to look at the same book as you."_

_He gestured to the tome in the child's lap and Draco raised an eyebrow, a trait he no doubt picked up from Lucius. "Indeed?" he asked. "Do you often have urges to read Choski?"_

_There was a slight derisive tone in the voice now, and the boy pulled out a new piece of parchment, writing rather hastily now, and although Dumbledore couldn't read the words, he could see that the handwriting was still incredibly neat._

"_Not at all," said Dumbledore again, "I actually try to steer away from him as much as possible because I find him rather dry, but I believe that the book might actually be useful during these times."_

_The boy smirked slightly, closed the book, and handed it over. "Happy reading then, Headmaster. I am quite finished with it."_

_Dumbledore watched as the boy packed up his things and then walked away without another glance in his direction. He followed the child with his eyes as the second year paused by another table, leaning in to whisper something and then walking out the door. A few seconds later, the table erupted in shouts and accusations and Dumbledore had no doubt that Draco Malfoy was the instigator, though he would not be able to prove it._

_Pince sorted the students out and Dumbledore turned back to the book, looking up basilisk in the index and then turning to page 366. To his surprise there was a piece of parchment tucked between the pages. He pulled it out and read the perfect script of one Draco Malfoy._

_**I recommend a supplementary reading of Burgeson's Guide to Ghosts, page 37**._

_Intrigued, Dumbledore found the other book and turned to the suggested page, skimming down the lines until one caught his attention "…it has been theorized that the gaze of a basilisk would indeed affect a ghost negatively, causing a condensing of the 'grey matter' that makes up the incorporeal figures as well as paralysis..."_

_Dumbledore put the book back, stroking his beard as his thoughts turned to one certain blond haired boy._

"I still don't know what it is about Draco," said Dumbledore, once he had finished relating the story to Bill, "and there have been other incidents, but they are so few I haven't been able to pinpoint what it is that is off about him. The only thing I know is that he is quite clever, cleverer than what he shows."

"That he is," said Bill, unable to stop the smile from slipping onto his face.

"What is it?" Dumbledore asked. "You know what he is hiding."

Bill nodded and started to explain. "Draco decoded my board last year."

"He what?" asked Dumbledore, leaning forward slightly.

"He figured out that I was sending a message through my instructions on the board," said Bill. "He even figured out that Tonks was impersonating a student."

"And yet you didn't tell anyone?" asked Dumbledore. "You could have been exposed." His tone was grave and slightly disappointed; Bill knew why. It hadn't been just his life he was risking, it was Tonks as well.

"I realize that it might seem incredibly foolish not to tell anyone," said Bill, "but he couldn't tell, and even if he could expose me, I don't think I would have told you, or anyone else for that matter."

Dumbledore looked extremely serious now. "And why is that?" he asked.

Bill paused for a moment. "Because he's not as bad as everyone thinks he is," he said finally. "He's not even as bad as he could be."

Dumbledore studied him for a moment. "I think you had better start from the beginning."

Bill nodded. "As you know I took the Ancient Runes position to pass on information from the Death Eater meetings to Tonks, who was disguised as a Ravenclaw girl in my class, by means of a code on my blackboard. Draco Malfoy was also in my class, and my brother and his friends told me many horrible things that Draco had done, painting him to be a miniature Lord Voldemort."

Dumbledore half-smiled at that, though not in amusement, and Bill continued.

"I started noticing things about Draco, things that went against my original view of him. When the attack on the Quidditch Pitch occurred, I stayed with Draco while Severus had to make an immobilization potion. Because Madame Pomfrey had given him some rather potent pain medications, he was talking more than he usually did, finally saying, right as he passed out, 'There's a riddle on your board. R is for Riddle. M is for Malfoy.'"

"That's when you found out that he had decoded the information," said Dumbledore.

"Right," said Bill. "So, I immediately went inside and did what no other teacher had done before. I looked into his file and found something rather startling."

"And that was-?" prodded Dumbledore, completely enthralled in the story.

"You have copies of the files in here, don't you?" asked Bill. "I think it's better if you checked for yourself."

Dumbledore flicked his wand and a cabinet opened, a file flying out and landing on his desk. The Headmaster opened it, scanning the pages and then going still. Bill watched as he stared a moment, then flipped back to the beginning.

"All E's," said Dumbledore, looking up at Bill. "Six years of straight E's. It's impossible to receive those grades on a fluke."

"That's what I thought," said Bill. "Of course at that time I saw it, there was only five years of straight E's, but it still proved a point."

"He was purposefully getting E's," said Dumbledore.

"Exactly," said Bill. "And because he had figured out my code, I knew he must be incredibly smart, so I went to visit him in the infirmary, and told him that I knew, and we reached a sort of truce."

"His silence for your silence," said Dumbledore.

Bill nodded, remembering Draco saying those exact words.

"I started working with him on the Persian Runes, which have never been translated," said Bill. "I've been trying to translate them for a while now, but haven't made any real progress. I knew that someone as smart as Draco would love the chance to help decode the runes, and it would also give me a chance to talk with him."

"You wished to be his friend," said Dumbledore.

"Not then, no," said Bill. "I was more intrigued that he managed to go for nearly his entire school career without anyone noticing that he was smarter than he pretended to be, and I was also curious as to why he didn't tell anyone about the board. I realized then that because he was so smart, he would have undoubtedly realized that Voldemort is not worth following, although his childhood beliefs came into conflict with his revelations. I also knew that if he did join Voldemort, we wouldn't stand a chance against the Death Eaters."

"He's that smart?" asked Dumbledore.

Bill nodded. "I had to teach him the Slavic Runes before we could get started on the Persian ones, and he knew it cold in half an hour, and then he corrected me on a verb conjugation." Bill shook his head, smiling at the memory.

"You think of him as a brother," said Dumbledore, his insight once again proving to be astounding.

"I do," said Bill. "I'll be the first one to admit that sometimes the kid is frustrating, and some days you just want to slap him for being such a git, but all over, he's an okay kid. Perhaps he's a little misguided, and he has these rather large trust problems, but for the most part I think he turned out rather well, considering the circumstances."

"I see," said Dumbledore, nodding thoughtfully. "Do you think Draco will want to be your code breaker?"

"I think so," said Bill. "He did, after all, save my life."

Dumbledore's blue eyes lit up. "Your angel," he said.

"Yeah," said Bill. "He showed up out of nowhere, and took on the whole Death Eater army. It was rather impressive."

"I can imagine," said Dumbledore. "I'm also impressed that you managed to befriend him. It's not every day a Slytherin will risk his neck to save someone else, especially when there is no benefit to the Slytherin. He must think highly of you."

Bill laughed. "I don't think Draco thinks highly of anyone," he said. "But, I am his friend."

"Well then, I approve Draco Malfoy as your code breaker, though it might be difficult to send the letters under Lucius Malfoy's gaze.

"He doesn't live with Lucius anymore," said Bill.

"Oh?" asked Dumbledore.

"He was disinherited and is on his way to being disowned," said Bill. "Apparently he refused Voldemort's offer at the initiation at the end of summer."

"Severus didn't mention that Draco was there," said Dumbledore.

"Draco asked him not to," said Bill. "After he refused Voldemort he met Snape at his house to give him a letter to deliver to me, since Draco told me about the initiation and he knew I would be worried. Severus says that Draco created quite a stir. Apparently Voldemort wanted Draco to be his heir and Draco told him to 'screw himself' though in less polite terms. He then Portkeyed away."

Dumbledore looked highly amused at that, no doubt figuring the exact phrasing used, but then turned serious. "That would be enough to get him disowned," he said, "though it usually takes quite a few months to get the papers through. Do you know why Voldemort wanted Draco as his heir? Does he know that Draco is highly intelligent?"

"I talked to Severus about that," said Bill grimly, "and the closest he understands it is that Draco answered the initiation questions correctly and that Voldemort seemed impressed that he didn't cry after repeated administrations of the Cruciatus."

Dumbledore's eyes darkened at the mention of the curse, but then he looked down at Draco's file still on the table.

"It seems to me that Draco is a very good candidate to be your code breaker. Have you contacted him yet?"

"Well, no," said Bill a little sheepishly. "You see, I don't really know where he is right now."

"Really," said Dumbledore.

"He left the country soon after refusing the Dark Mark," said Bill. "He sends me letters every week with information on the Persian Runes that he is working on, but I have no clue where he is. I've tried to trace the letters, but I haven't been able to. I was wondering if you could take a look at them."

"Of course," said Dumbledore.

Bill pulled out Draco's letter and handed it to the Headmaster.

"I'll let you know what I find as soon as possible," Dumbledore promised.

"Thank you, Headmaster," said Bill getting up. "Good day."

"And to you too, William."

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Draco frowned as he stared at the walls covered in Ancient Runes, or rather, the large sheets of paper he had taped over every wall in his apartment were covered in Ancient Runes. He stood in the middle of his living room, his left hand holding the black marker and his right tapping out his pattern as he thought.

The room was messy. Sheets of paper that had already been marked all over were strewn about in piles and the bookshelf was filled with volumes on Calculus, advanced mathematics, psychology, chemistry, and computer technology. There was also a keyboard in the corner, which was the only piece of furniture he personally owned because the flat had come already furnished.

He flipped through one of the notebooks Bill had given him, skimmed it over, and then scribbled hastily in one of the margins on the paper. He stepped back and frowned again. It still didn't work.

"Merde," he said out loud.

He was answered by the ding of the microwave and he gave the wall one last look and then walked into the kitchen. The smell of some sort of fake pasta meal wafted from the microwave and he opened it, then pulled the plastic container out and shut the door. On the way back to the living room he grabbed a plastic fork and began to eat.

It was a pre-cooked meal, one which required only three minutes in the microwave, and it was one of the only meals Draco could make. He had no doubt that he could become proficient in the kitchen, but he honestly thought doing so was a waste of time. He had nearly starved the first week he was in the States because he didn't take the time to make anything, but then he had discovered the freezer section in the grocery stores and the meals that were already cooked for him. So what if they tasted strangely like plastic? It was nourishment.

He returned to staring at the walls again, the flimsy carton in his hand, working as he ate. This one dialect had been giving him trouble. To be truthful, the whole entire thing had been giving him trouble, but then again, he was trying to decipher an Ancient Rune dialect that had never been translated before.

He sighed. Maybe it was time for a break. He had been doing Ancient Runes nearly the entire time he had been away from England, only taking breaks when his head had been too muddled, like it was right now. The first time he had turned to physics, publishing a paper on the speed of light. The math world had eaten it up, astounded by the equations that had disproved so many theories on the speed of light. 'A break-through' one famed mathematician called it. Draco disagreed. It was in all honesty, a piece of crap. All he had done was disproved theories; he had made no conclusions of his own.

The second time he had taken a break was when he had first moved to this apartment. It was in some middle-sized city and it did little to block out the noise from the street. Draco had been sorely tempted to cast a silencing charm, but magic is easily traced and he wanted to remain inconspicuous. So Draco had purchased the keyboard and spent all night playing and tinkered a bit with composing. He had finally published a symphony that was picked up by quite a few orchestras, and was even played in Carnegie Hall as well as the Sydney Opera House. The critics raved about the piece, and this time Draco agreed. It was quite beautiful.

It was these two pursuits that gave him enough money for the apartment, and quite a bit extra, which Draco was thankful for. He had no intention of drawing money from his Gringotts account because money is a whole lot more traceable than magic.

The third time, he had toyed with creating a supplement to counter Veritaserum. He had finally come up with a theoretical potion, but without a real potion lab, he couldn't test it.

He sighed again. Perhaps it was time to look to another subject for a while. He did have an idea for a jazz piano piece that had been lingering in the back of his brain. He walked back into the kitchen and threw out the remains of his meal, and than drank a glass full of water, or rather, a paper cup full of water because he hated washing dishes.

He glanced at the paper-covered wall in his kitchen, also covered in Ancient Runes, and then he tore a section off and ran back into the living room, taping that section under the one he had just written. He stepped back, his mind going into overdrive. He picked up his marker and began to write.

He stopped four hours later when night fell and the light disappeared from the windows. He took the opportunity to close the curtains and turn on his lights, and then took down the covered pages and put blank ones up.

The tapping at the window halted his progress three hours later and he pulled open the curtain to see an owl at his window, a letter tied to its leg. For a minute he stared. No one knew where he was, why on earth was there an owl at his window?

He left the window to grab his unregistered wand from the bedside table, just in case there was something wrong with the letter. While all magic is noticeable, the unregistered wand insured that it couldn't be traced to his name. He opened the window and took the letter from the owl, which immediately flew away.

Draco closed the window and made sure that all of the curtains were closed tightly, before screening the letter for any curses or hexes. There were none. He slowly opened the letter, surprised to note that it was written in the Syrian dialect, the same dialect he had used to write his letters to Bill. He knew it couldn't be coincidence, but how did Bill find him?

He read the letter.

_Hi Draco,_

_It's Bill. Since you're probably wondering how I managed to get this letter to you, I didn't. I had Dumbledore trace your letters._

Draco felt a surge of disbelief and betrayal. He had Dumbledore trace his letters? What was going on?

_Listen, don't jump to conclusions and don't get mad. I'll explain, starting from the top. There is a growing threat of Death Eaters overseas, and Fudge is finally doing something proactive. There are to be a network of spies in the other countries, mostly undercover Aurors, and they will be listening in the right places in hopes to pick information up. They will relay the information to a contact in the country, who will code the messages and send them to a code-breaker in England, who will translate the messages and send them on. Fudge had put Dumbledore in charge of the whole project, which is why I told him about you. I'm to go to France, to be a contact. And I would like nothing better than to have you as my code breaker._

Draco re-read the last paragraph, wondering if Bill was serious. His last stint as a spy didn't go so well, but he could tell Bill was serious. He read on.

_I realize you might be rather upset that I told Dumbledore about you, and you have a right to be; it is not my secret to tell. However, even if I wasn't going to be a spy, and even if Dumbledore wasn't in charge of the mission, I think I would still tell Dumbledore that you are a genius. I asked Severus about what happened that night, and I know that Voldemort wanted you to be his heir, and that you said no. I want someone on the faculty who knows exactly what is happening so that they can keep an eye out for you when you return to school, and since I don't know if you are returning to school, I want someone who has a lot of influence to keep tabs on you, hence Dumbledore. And yes, that would be my Gryfindorish traits of worry to much coming out._

Draco had to smirk at that, even if he didn't know what he felt about Dumbledore knowing his secret. If someone on the faculty had to be told, he was glad it would be Dumbledore because he held no respect for the other teachers. He read the rest of the message.

_If you do wish to be my code breaker, meet myself and Dumbledore at the Three Broomsticks on Thursday at ten in the morning. If not, don't come. I really do hope you are doing well, Draco, and stay safe, alright?_

_Sincerely,  
Bill_

_P.S. Dumbledore was quite impressed at your hiding skills. He tried to trace the letters, but couldn't even figure out what continent you are on, so we had to settle with merely figuring out how to send a letter back to you._

Draco knew that in sending the letters to Bill, it would be possible to send a letter back to him if Bill really looked hard enough, or asked Dumbledore, but that was part of the reason he had sent them. He wanted to know if something major had happened.

He sat down on the coach, thinking it over. He had planned on going back to England for school, had more than planned on it. He already had a flat in London, near Diagon Alley, and he had gone out shopping for furniture already with the money he had made from his paper and his music. While he needed the time away from the war and everything else to figure things out, he never planned on hiding away for the rest of his life. He needed to go back. He was a part of the conflict.

He didn't want to join the Order of the Phoenix, at least, not yet. He wasn't ready for the Order just now, didn't feel like associating with the type of people that, up until a few months ago, he hated. But this was Ministry run, and he firmly believed that the Ministry needed to be a part of the war. So, he got up, and began to pack.

It was Monday right now, and he could manage a flight back by either tonight or tomorrow. That would give him plenty of time to settle into his new flat, and then he would meet Bill and Dumbledore on Thursday. He took one last look around the life he had created for himself, and didn't feel at all sad about leaving. It was time to go home.

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Well, what do you think so far? Things will definitely heat up in the next chapter (Draco runs into Lucius, not literally, but still unexpectedly). Review!


	2. Meetings

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, hence, I am not famous.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A huge thank you to all of my reviewers, who gave me an insane amount of reviews, I love you all. However, if I replied to all of you this time, I wouldn't get to post the chapter 'til next week, so for now, thank you. Next time, I'll start replying to reviews straight off to fit you all in. Thanks again!

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_Chapter 2_

_Meetings_

Draco easily made his way through the crowded streets of London. With his natural grace and the way he walked, as if he expected people to get out of his way, most people did unconsciously step away from his path and so he made surprisingly good time to the Leaky Cauldron.

It was a warm summer day and he was wearing baggy jeans slung low around his hips and a tighter, olive green t-shirt. A pair of ordinary black sneakers was on his feet and the necklace Bill had given him was still around his neck. His wand was shoved into his deep back pocket so he wouldn't get odd glances and his reflective sunglasses hid his gaze from the other pedestrians. Even though he was in the middle of Muggle London, he still kept alert for anyone who might not be on the best of terms with him. He had arrived in England on a plane and had gone straight to his flat, and he had yet to venture into the magical world, but it was only common sense to be on his guard after angering Voldemort as he had done.

He veered off from the rest of the Muggle crowd and entered the Leaky Cauldron. He could see the owner squint at him, as if trying to make out who he was, but Draco had changed since he had been gone.

He was a couple of inches taller, so that he was now on the taller side of average as opposed to the shorter side, and his frame had filled out a bit with muscle so that he wasn't quite the stick figure he had been before. His hair was still the tell-tale white-blond, but it was cut shorter, though it still hit the back of his neck and his bangs often fell into his eyes. He was also wearing Muggle clothes, and that was something a Malfoy just didn't do.

He pulled off his sunglasses, because the room was already dim making the shades a hindrance instead of useful, and the owner immediately knew who he was because his cold, grey stare had not changed.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir," he said with a slight smile.

"Tom," said Draco nodding politely. He glanced at his watch and saw that he had time to spare before meeting Bill and Dumbledore so he sat at the counter. "A coffee," he said, knowing that the Leaky Caldron had one excellent Columbian bean. Besides, it was still morning and much too early for anything stronger, though he suspected he might need one later tonight.

Tom efficiently fixed his coffee, sliding the mug over with a small pitcher of cream and a tray of sugar. Draco avoided both of them. Tom was always in bartender mode, and so he moved his glasses over to Draco and spoke while working.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "Seen your father around quite a bit though, catching the Portkey to France and what not, but never you."

Tom was one of those people who noticed things. When Draco was younger, Lucius often took him with him to France on business trips because Narcissa wasn't exactly mother material. They would often pass through the Leaky Caldron, which was one of the few places that had direct Floo to the Manor, because it was conveniently located by Diagon Alley and the International Portkey platform.

Sometimes, before or after the trip, they would sit at the counter while Tom spoke meaningless small talk with Lucius. Draco would listen in, noticing how Tom could read the slight inflections in Lucius' tone and body language. Then Tom would fix a drink for Lucius, varying the amount of alcohol by how tense Lucius seemed, and then he would look over to Draco and study him as well, and then would either give him a hot chocolate or butterbeer.

_That_, Lucius would say afterwards, _is a smart man_.

"I've been away," said Draco, deciding from the heat of the cup that the coffee was too hot to drink, and while he could have cooled it with a charm or asked for an ice cube, he merely waited.

"Where abouts?" asked Tom, his brown eyes sweeping over him.

"The States," said Draco, frowning into his cup.

"Work?" asked Tom, knowing that they had no family over there.

"No," said Draco. "Just felt like getting away."

He had to consciously tell himself to relax; his muscles were tensed in the knowledge of today's meeting, and he took a breath and then a sip of coffee. The Floo flared to life in the fireplace a few feet behind him and he turned, more out of a self-preservation instinct than an actual desire to see who it was. He shouldn't have looked behind him. Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the flames along with another associate, and as Draco was turned, his father locked eyes on him.

Draco froze for a split second. He could see his father's grey eyes widen marginally, but that was it. The grey eyes than slid past him and over the rest of the costumers without acknowledging his presence. He turned back to the counter, feeling a spike of terror, and grasped the tabletop to hide the faint trembling in his hands. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming himself down, but the next instant he froze again when his father stepped up right next to him.

"I'll have a drink, Tom," Lucius said, completely calm.

Draco's hand slid unobtrusively to his back pocket and he pulled out his wand, then held it under the table in a loose dueling grip just in case his father did try something.

"Of course," said Tom. "Pull up a chair and it will be right up."

_No, don't_, thought Draco urgently, but his father sat down gracefully in the stool left to him. They were only inches apart, and Draco's entire body was tensed, his right hand curled in a fist so that his nails dug painfully into his skin, and yet his father seemed completely unaffected.

"Off to France again, then?" asked Tom idly to Lucius, while he pulled out a few bottles of this and that.

"Unfortunately, yes," said Lucius, and although Draco strained to hear anything that might show that his father was at least a little bit affected by his son's presence, he gave none.

He suddenly realized what he was doing, sitting next to his father, a Death Eater, who had no qualms killing innocents, so why would it be different with his son? He got to his feet, only barely hiding the fact that he wanted to bolt out the door. He pulled a few coins from his pocket and placed them on the table.

"Thank you, Tom," he said, keeping his voice steady and cool, much to his surprise and relief. "I'll be leaving then."

He started to turn, but Lucius' hand shot out, clamping about his forearm in a painful vise, halting Draco's escape. Lucius plucked the wand from unresisting fingers and placed it on the counter.

"Sit," he commanded, and although his voice was quiet, it was still as hard as steel. Years of obeying his father to the letter kicked in and Draco sat back down, his father not releasing his arm. If anything, the grip tightened, as if Lucius could read his son's mind and knew that he wanted to run.

"Fa-," Draco started, and then he cut off, because Lucius was disowning him and he had no idea what to call him.

It was only a slight consolation that Lucius tensed ever-so-slightly at Draco's blunder as well, though, whether it was from the fact that Draco started to call him 'father' or stopped himself, was impossible to tell.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't have you killed right now," Lucius said harshly and Draco started a moment, wondering why Lucius had said that so everyone could hear, but then he realized Lucius had spoken in French, so he reverted to his native language as well.

"Parce qu'il y a des témoins," Draco said calmly back. (Because there are witnesses.)

For a moment, Lucius' grey eyes bored into his own, searching for something but Draco didn't know what he was looking for.

"Pourquoi?" asked Lucius, an urgency in his voice that Draco had never heard before, but it was only one word, one question 'Why?', and so Draco may have misheard. Either way, he was unable to answer.

The next moment he was sure he had misheard the inflection, because Lucius pulled himself straighter and stared down at him with that unreadable expression in his eyes. The transformation was so smooth, Draco began to doubt that he had ever heard the inflection, and he was left to wonder if Lucius really did feel nothing for his only son, but then Tom placed Lucius' drink in front of his father. Draco could tell by the color that the majority of the drink was made from Ogden's strongest firewhiskey. _He_ couldn't tell if his father was affected by his presence or not, but Tom knew that Lucius was.

He felt his lips twitch slightly at the sight of the drink, and he couldn't help but look up at his father. Lucius glared and let go of his arm, and although his father's grip had been painful, Draco found himself missing the connection.

His father drained the glass in one long swallow and avoided looking at him again, placing the empty tumbler on the table and then motioning for his associate should follow him out the back door into Diagon Alley. Draco watched them leave, hoping his father would look back at him, even just once, but Lucius didn't even glance his way.

Draco watched the door slam shut, and then turned back to his coffee, wishing that he had ordered something stronger, even though he wasn't much of a drinker, not after Narcissa. Tom seemed to know what he was thinking, because he took Draco's cup and added a shot of whiskey and then a bit of sweetened cream, stirred it and warmed it with a charm, and then set back in front of Draco.

"Thanks," said Draco softly, picking up the cup and taking a long swallow. It was just at the right temperature and he could feel his muscles starting to relax. A glance at the clock showed him that he should be leaving now, so he drank the rest of the coffee and added a few more coins onto those he had already left.

"See you, Tom," he said, pocketing his wand again.

"Good-day, Mr. Malfoy," said the bartender.

Draco crossed to the fireplace, taking a pinch of the green powder in a box on the mantle and throwing it in the flames. "The Hogs Head!" he ordered and stepped in.

While he could have just Flooed straight to the Three Broomsticks, he didn't feel like stepping blind into a place that was so busy. The Hogs Head, while a shady and not quite legitimate establishment, was a place where no Death Eaters would gather. Yes, it was an area where illegal business ventures and trades took place, but the people who operated them were simply after money and power. They liked to keep their endeavors off Ministry radar, and so they kept hate crimes and Death Eaters far away.

He stepped out into the grimy pub and ignored all of the glances turned his way and headed for the door, stepping out once again into the bright sunlight and the warm breeze of mid-morning. He pulled his sunglasses back on and joined the crowds of wizards and witches out shopping or just enjoying the sun. Even though he was in Muggle clothes, he blended in with the other magical teenagers, who often wore Muggle clothing in the summer or on vacation.

He entered the Three Broomsticks at exactly ten o'clock, after having spent a few minutes watching the store. There were only a few people inside, as the breakfast rush had just already cleared out, and so Draco immediately spotted Bill Weasley talking with Madame Rosemerta at the counter. Bill's head jerked up when he entered, and Draco found his lips twitching up in his familiar smirk at his former-teacher's large grin.

He pulled off his sunglasses even as Bill came over, pulling him into a half hug and then letting him go, knowing that Draco disliked physical proximity.

"Look at you!" he said, checking him over to make sure he was alright. "You've got your hair cut and you're wearing colors, will wonders ever cease?"

Draco shrugged, trying to keep his lips from smiling. It was good to see Bill again.

"So, this is a 'yes', then?" asked Bill.

Draco shot him a look that said 'what else am I doing here?' and Bill laughed.

"'Course," he said. "Well then, come on in the back. Madame Rosemerta, we'll like those drinks in about half an hour."

"They'll be ready," said Rosmerta and Bill guided Draco towards the back room.

"Just so you know, there's an Auror in there too, and they'll have to do preliminary questions and all that, alright?"

"I thought there might be," said Draco. "I assume he's on the Order than?"

"Maybe," said Bill, but he was smiling, which told Draco his assumption was correct. "He'll be the one that you send your decoded letters to."

"You mean, assuming they let me join," said Draco, who knew that much more than just an ability to break codes would be judged.

"They'll be idiots if they don't," said Bill, and then they reached the door, and Bill opened it, guiding Draco in first.

Draco made sure to note the exact layout of the room. There was a large table, behind which Dumbledore and a large black Auror sat. Draco instantly identified him as Kingsley Shacklebolt. There were a few windows, but they were covered with curtains, and the only exit was through the door that Bill had just shut behind him. The former professor was now warding it as well.

"Come in, Draco," said Dumbledore kindly, his blue eyes twinkling up at him.

Draco hesitantly walked forward, keeping his eyes on the Auror, not really trusting the man. He pulled out the chair across from the two and sat, sprawling out slightly to show he was unaffected, but in a way that would allow him to jump to his feet at a moments notice.

This was bad. He was basically picking sides right now in a conflict that may not be resolved for another ten to twenty years, perhaps longer. If he was only looking out for himself right now, he would be staying far away, but there was Bill to consider as well. He eased his mind by reminding himself that in being a decoder he would be privy to information that might be useful in keeping himself informed. He was making it his business to know what was going on.

Bill took the seat next to Draco and Dumbledore leaned forward, obviously ready to start this meeting.

"I am very glad that you accepted Bill's offer, Draco," said Dumbledore. "I must say I was surprised when he cited you as his code breaker, but now that he has explained things, I must give you an apology. I never thought you would turn out as well as you did. You are quite a surprising young man."

Draco merely raised an eyebrow and Dumbledore continued.

"That aside, I assume you understand the position you are undertaking?"

"Yes," said Draco.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "I realize that you are uniquely suited to this sort of job, but there are still things we need to discuss, and some questions we need to ask. That is why Kingsley is here. Draco, meet-,"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," said Draco, turning his eyes on the large Auror. "Graduated second in his class, and became the youngest Auror to ever become an Auror first class, which he achieved nine years ago. He is on the Auror Retrieval Squad, and, until recently, was in charge of protecting the Muggle Minister. Now he is in charge of the logistical aspect of the new operation the Ministry is calling 'Code Recon'. He joined the Order," here Draco broke off, studying the man, "oh, anywhere from two to one and a half years ago along with one Nymphadora Tonks."

Kingsley raised his eyebrows, his neutral expression still in place and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even more. Bill was grinning at Kingsley in an 'I told you so' manner.

"I don't know," said the Auror to Bill, in a slow, deep voice. "He didn't tell me my middle name."

"You don't have a middle name," said Draco, turning back to Dumbledore. "I assume this involves Veritaserum?"

"It does," said Dumbledore, "but I assure you, we will only ask the necessities."

"Let's get it over with then," said Draco.

"Your wand," said Dumbledore, and Draco pulled it out and set it on the table, though every instinct told him not to.

Kingsley pulled out a vial of clear liquid and went to walk around the table, standing next to Draco and measuring out three drops. Draco's fingers tightened around the armrests on the chair, but he opened his mouth and the Veritaserum was placed on his tongue. He swallowed, the potion leaving a slight aftertaste that wasn't unpleasant, just disconcerting.

Dumbledore waited a moment, something that Draco was extremely grateful for, so he could calm himself and then Dumbledore asked the first question.

"Fawkes isn't the first phoenix you've seen, is he?"

Draco had to give Dumbledore props for the question. Not only was he checking to be sure that the potion was working, he was also seeing if Draco had the ability to fool the truth detectors.

"No," he said, allowing the potion to work since there was no sense in fighting it. "I saw one in the zoo in Paris when I was younger."

Dumbledore smiled at that and then the real questions began. "What is your full name?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"Are you in the service of Lord Voldemort?"

"No."

"Have you ever been in the service of Lord Voldemort?"

"No."

"Have you ever attended a Death Eater meeting?"

"Yes."

He noticed the slight flicker in both Dumbledore's and Shacklebolt's eyes.

"Have you ever participated in a Death Eater meeting?"

"No."

Dumbledore relaxed marginally.

"Have you ever wished to join the Death Eaters?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever been offered a position as a Death Eater?"

"Yes."

"What was the offer?"

Draco hesitated a split second, wondering if they knew, and for a minute he struggled with the potion, but then his mouth was talking. "The Dark Lord wished me to be his heir."

There were no shocked looks so Draco figured they already knew.

"Did you accept the position?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Draco paused again, but this time because he didn't know how to answer.

"I don't believe that following a Half-blood in order to purify the bloodlines is exactly sound doctrine. I don't believe that innocents should be killed for sport. I don't really believe that Purebloods have anything over Mudbloods, and I don't wish to be a servant to a power-crazed madman."

"But you were to be his heir. Didn't you want that sort of power?"

"I did. That's why I said no."

Dumbledore nodded at that, not thrown off by the twisted logic. "What do you mean 'I don't really believe that Purebloods have anything over Muggle-borns'?"

"I know that facts," said Draco. "Probably better than anyone else, but don't expect me to change a life time of beliefs in the space of a day."

"Fair enough," said Dumbledore. "One more question. Do you have the Dark Mark?"

"No," said Draco.

"May I examine your arms then?"

Draco put his arms on the table and Dumbledore cast a revealing charm, but nothing happened. Draco started to pull his arms back, but Dumbledore gently latched onto his left wrist and peered at his forearm.

"Are you alright, my boy?" asked Dumbledore in concern.

Draco looked down to see bruises where his father had grabbed his arm and the blue marks were in the shape of Lucius' hand.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, and truthfully, but then Bill was there as well, looking at the marks.

"Who did that?" he asked.

Draco battled with the Veritaserum, knowing that the potion was almost worn off, but it was still potent enough so that he answered honestly.

"Lucius," he said, and then silently cursed as both Bill and Dumbledore looked up at him in alarm and Kingsley sat forward a little.

"I passed him when I was coming here," said Draco. "He wanted to talk, I didn't, so he stopped me. That's all."

"I thought you said," began Bill but Draco cut him off.

"He doesn't," he said. "It's the first time he ever hurt me, and he didn't even mean to, alright?"

Bill searched his eyes but decided that he was telling the truth.

"Alright," he said.

Draco sat back, crossing his arms loosely over his chest to hide the bruises from sight. There was a knock on the door and Bill went to open it. It was Madame Rosmerta and Bill took the tray from her, and then shut and re-warded the door. He came over and set the tray down on the table and handed out the butterbeers.

Draco took the offered bottle; Veritaserum was not an easy thing to go through.

"Now then," said Dumbledore, once he had taken a sip of his own drink, "this brings us to the next topic we need to discuss, your safety, Draco. Since you will be attending school, and because you are a Slytherin, you are in grave danger from your housemates, who no doubt know of your refusal to join the Death Eaters."

"I am quite capable of handling myself around Slytherins," said Draco. "Even if they may be wishing to cause me bodily harm."

"I don't doubt it," said Dumbledore. "Why, I remember a time just last year when six Slytherins were found in the Charms room with no memory on how they had gotten there, and then a few months later, three more Slytherins were hospitalized with rather dark curses, however, a school is not a place where you should have to constantly be on your guard, especially not at night. That being said, I wish to congratulate you."

"On what?" asked Draco, suspiciously.

"On becoming this year's Head Boy," said Dumbledore.

Draco blinked, and Dumbledore continued to speak.

"Of course, it won't be official until you get your letter in the mail, but best of wishes ahead of time."

Draco finally found his voice. "You're joking, right?" he asked.

"Is something the matter?" asked Dumbledore.

"Everything's the matter!" said Draco. "What the hell are you thinking giving me Head Boy? I'm not Head Boy material, I-I don't even…," he found himself at a loss for words, turning in Bill's direction and hoping that his former professor would speak up in his behalf, but Bill was grinning at him excitedly.

"You'll do great," he said encouragingly.

"What?" asked Draco in disbelief. He turned back to Dumbledore with one last appeal. "Give it to Potter," he said. "He actually cares about things like that and he'll be an excellent example to the other students. I honestly don't give a shit about it."

"I think you will find," said Dumbledore, "that I am rarely wrong on my choice for Head students. Besides, you were a Prefect, you saved Ginny Weasley's life last year, and you receive steady, acceptable grades."

"I frequently use my position as Prefect to achieve my own goals that are always detrimental to the school, I have had more detentions than any other three students combined, I don't interact well with others, I am not on good terms with any professor in this school, and I have instigated or participated in every single one of the thirty-eight fights these past six years, save two. I am the worst candidate you have for Head Boy!"

"Why are you afraid of taking the Head Boy position?" asked Dumbledore simply, once his tirade had ended.

"I'm not afraid," said Draco.

The blue eyes were unconvinced and Draco leaned back in his chair, glaring at the Headmaster.

"I'm not Potter," he said finally. "Just because I have not joined Voldemort does not mean you should expect great or good things from me. If given the opportunity, I will use my power as Head Boy to further my own gain and ensure my own safety first and foremost. Now, with that in mind, if you still wish me to be Head Boy, I will accept."

Dumbledore did not look daunted. "I suppose I will just have to keep a close eye on you then," he said. "Make no mistake, Mr. Malfoy, I am aware that you are not an innocent, however, at this time, you are the closest thing to a neutral party we have, and I think that your presence as Head Boy may help this school stick together longer. Besides, this way you will not have to charm your curtains at night. The Head Boy has his own room and you will be quite safe from any one who wishes you ill."

"Very well," said Draco, inclining his head but not thanking him for the position.

"I am looking forward to the school year," said Dumbledore, with a slight, challenging smile on his lips, but it was gone the next instant. "There is another thing we must discuss and that is the job you will be doing for the Ministry. There are seven other code breakers, besides yourself, and there will be a mandatory meeting early next week so that the basic code breaking techniques can be taught."

"Unnecessary," said Draco.

"Is that so?" asked Dumbledore.

"I broke Bill's code without any instructions," said Draco. "I think I can handle his letters."

"These codes will be longer," said Dumbledore, "more intricate. And besides, it will give you a chance to meet the other code breakers. You will be in attendance."

His voice meant that there was no room for arguments, Draco had heard it from his father many times, and so he merely nodded. "Is that all?" he asked.

"One more thing," said Dumbledore. "I would like to offer you an invitation into the Order of the Phoenix."

Draco started to speak up, shaking his head, but Dumbledore held a hand up, stopping him.

"I know that at this time you probably have no wish to join the Order, and I respect that. However, the invitation is standing. If you ever change your mind, or if you need help for any reason, we will be there. Remember that Draco."

Draco was surprised by the show of generosity, not expecting such quick acceptance and it must have showed on his face because Dumbledore smiled kindly down at him.

"I will," Draco said, regaining his cold mask.

"Not at all," said Dumbledore, "thank you for accepting this role. I will owl you about the particulars of the code breaker meeting once we have all of the details finalized."

The meeting was over and Draco was relieved. He stood, placing his empty bottle on the table and pocketing his wand.

"Thank you, Headmaster," he said, inclining his head an inch.

"I'll walk you back," said Bill, getting up as well.

They exited the shop, back into the bright sunlight that made Draco's eyes water and he pulled his sunglasses back on.

"Where you headed?" asked Bill.

"The Hogs Head," said Draco. "Catching the Floo to the Leaky Caldron and then to my flat."

"You've got a place to stay already?" asked Bill surprised.

"I've had it for a while now," said Draco. "It's in Muggle London."

"Really," said Bill. "You're living as a Muggle?"

Draco shrugged. "I figured it was the safest place to be. Besides, I'm going to buy a car I think."

Bill laughed and then grew serious again.

"You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, Draco," he said, "but if you weren't going to join Voldemort, why on earth did you go to the initiation?"

Draco paused, but then answered. "The next day was my birthday," he said. "Because I was still a child, my bank accounts were joint vaults with my father. If he had known I was going to turn traitor, he would have pulled all the money out. If I turned seventeen without him pulling the money out, all of it would be mine."

"So what happened?"

"Well, that's the cool thing about birthdays," said Draco. "As soon as it is midnight day of, you're officially your new age."

"So, you stalled for time," said Bill. "To get the money."

"You sound disappointed," said Draco.

"A million galleons isn't worth your soul, Draco."

"How about ten million?" asked Draco.

Bill stopped and looked at him incredulous. "Ten million?" he asked.

"Cash," said Draco. "I've got another ten million in investments, and a chateau in France worth five."

"Twenty-five million," said Bill, in tones of one who can't really believe what he is hearing.

Draco smirked at him. "I'm a Malfoy, Bill," he said. "At least, I am for a little longer, and we like to keep financially secure."

"Financially secure meaning enough galleons to buy a new car whenever the fancy hits you?"

"Actually, I'll be paying in pounds," said Draco. "I did rather well when I was out of the country."

"Do I even want to know?" asked Bill. "It wasn't illegal, was it?"

"'Course not," said Draco. "I wrote a paper on physics and it's become required reading at a few colleges and then I composed a symphony."

"Magician's Symphony," said Bill suddenly. "That's the one, isn't it? It's been playing non-stop over the wizard's radio."

"That's the one," said Draco. They arrived at the Hogs Head and Draco gave Bill a slight smile. "It's good to see you again, Bill."

"You too, kid," said Bill. "But just so you know, next time, I'd rather you safe, than twenty-five million, alright?"

"Alright," said Draco.

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Bill walked back to the Three Broomsticks and entered the back room once more. Dumbledore and Kingsley were waiting for him.

"Well?" Bill asked, raising his eyebrows and taking his seat again.

"He's not what I expected," said Kingsley carefully. "So, he really is a genius then?" Dumbledore had told the Auror, just because he was the one controlling the logistics of the operation and he needed to know.

"Yeah," said Bill.

Kingsley shook his head. "Can you imagine what Lucius would have done if he knew? I can just see an anti-Muggleborn campaign under the reason that once you're inbred enough you can become a genius."

"I actually think that's why Draco kept it a secret," said Bill.

"It is Lucius' loss that he was not enough of a father to Draco to realize how smart he is," said Dumbledore. "Though I was always under the impression that they were close."

Bill shook his head. "From what I gather, Lucius isn't around a whole lot and is extremely manipulating, but there are…moments when he does behave as a father should. Draco is more confused on what he should feel, and he dislikes that feeling, which is why it's best not to mention Lucius around Draco. He can be quite defensive."

"What of his mother?" asked Kingsley. "Surely she would know."

Bill hesitated, than noticed that Dumbledore looked grave as well.

"Narcissa isn't mother material," said Dumbledore. "She was very self-centered, even as a child, and she has only grown worse. She also took up whiskey at a very young age. It really is tragic. She had such great potential."

The three fell silent. If there is one thing a child needs, it is the love of the mother.

"Well," said Dumbledore, "I have many things to do before the end of the school year, namely breaking it to the staff that Draco Malfoy will be Head Boy."

Bill grimaced. "They're sure to have conniptions."

"Without a doubt," said Dumbledore, "and I am afraid that Minerva won't speak to me after this. Alas, I do so enjoy talking to that woman."

He sighed, but got up, and the other two followed.

"Fleur wants to pick out baby names," said Bill.

"And the Ministry no doubt wishes me back," said Kingsley.

They said their farewells at the door and went their separate ways.

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Well, what do you think? Leave a review and let me know. Next chapter, we see Draco in action after an attempted kidnapping.


	3. Plots and Planning

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would not be working overnights. Blah!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm sorry. I am most sincerely sorry. Wow, I feel like such a terrible person for not updating. It's been almost three weeks, and I know how it sucks waiting for a story to update, and the stupid author is just dallying around. Gosh, doesn't it just make you mad?

For an apology, I will update the next chapter in two days. Thank you to everyone who updated, I love you all!

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Ravus Umbra was several things. First and foremost it was a bar that served some not-so legal drinks, but because it was located in the heart of Knockturn Alley, England, it was never really reported. Secondly, it was a hot spot, where a lonely witch or wizard could find company for the night, whether in the bar itself or in the rooms upstairs that could be rented by the half-hours. Even if no company was required, it was where any Dark Wizard who thought he was worth something was sure to show his face in hopes to attract attention to get a job, or to issue a threat. Thirdly, it was a gathering place for certain transactions that wouldn't hold up in the light of day, or to the light of a Ministry official's desk lamp.

Perhaps most importantly however, it was a place where information could be bought or sold and that was why Draco Malfoy walked into the Ravus Umbra late Friday night.

Now that he had ventured out into the wizarding world - on Thursday in his meeting with Bill - he wasn't going to hide any longer. A smart person who had earned the ire of the Dark Lord would generally keep a low profile, keeping away from magical areas, however Draco was not a smart person. He was a genius.

He knew that openly showing his face would cause attention, and that the spies that worked for the Dark Lord, and for his father, would report back to their masters that Draco Malfoy was strolling about Knockturn Alley like it was his own backyard, and that would throw them off. They would immediately be looking for something that was making him so bold, and while they kept back, suspecting a trap, Draco would spread his name about the Underground as a person not to mess with. It was an offensive defense.

Draco also needed his own information. Not being in the house with his Death Eaters parents meant that he was no longer privy to the information they brought back with them. Draco didn't like being kept in the dark about the Dark Lord's movements, especially now that he had made his loyalties, or lack thereof, known. He wanted, needed, to keep tabs on what was happening.

No one really noticed him as he entered with the hood of his black cloak pulled over his head because it was raining outside, but then he pushed it back, revealing his white-blond locks and piercing grey eyes, and several nudges and whispers were exchanged as he made his way to the counter.

"What'll you have?" asked the bartender, giving him a once over as the rest of the bar went back to whatever illegal activities they were previously involved in. "Are you even old enough to drink?"

A few characters at the bar, the ones trying to drown whatever sorrows they had in whiskey and wine, guffawed at that, then proceeded to mope again.

"An Acid Sherbet," said Draco. "Iced."

It was a rather alcoholic beverage, but a fashionable one, served in a metal cup and a metal straw because the rum that was used would eat through a ceramic cup it was that acidic. That was why the sherbet was added. Once the sherbet had melted into the liquid, it was safe to drink. Having a taste before the sherbet had completely dissolved was a good way to disintegrate one's tongue.

"Are you trying to spoil that virgin mouth of yours with your first drink?" asked the bartender, sliding the cup over to him once he was done fixing the rum and sherbet just right. Those at the bar chuckled again and Draco merely repressed the urge to roll his eyes. He was no virgin and he had experienced his first drink at eight and his first hangover at eleven, though he was careful never to get drunk again.

"Actually," said Draco coolly, giving the bartender a frosty glare, "I'm here on business. I'm looking for Gremian Fitch."

"Over there," said the bartender, jerking his head in the direction of the far corner. "The one with the pint of whiskey."

Draco didn't bother thanking the bartender, instead going straight for the craggy-faced man at the table in the back corner. He had, of course, known who Fitch was before he entered, but informants like to keep a low profile, and putting a face to a 'squealer' was not only going against the black market code of conduct, but it was also a sure way to turn all of the informants against you, which is something no one wants. So Draco had asked, just to keep up appearances.

He sat across from Fitch, putting his drink down in front of him, and waited until the balding head turned up in his direction.

"So's?" the man asked in a slight slur. "Yur 'ere, huh? Was almos' thinkin' yuh wouldn't show up. Not many people askin' yur sorts of questions. Why yuh's wanna know anyways?"

"Mr. Fitch," said Draco smoothly. "I believe that I paid you to answer my questions, not to ask some of your own."

"Alrigh', alrigh'," said the man, "I'll tell yuhs." He stared down at his drink, as if trying to remember what he was supposed to be talking about.

"The Dark Lord's actions," Draco prompted. "Starting the night of June 5th."

"Not really a lot to tell that yuhs can't find inna paper," said Fitch. "Few raids on Mu'bloods here an' there, an attack on the Minis'ry when Aurors captured some of his men, an' some threats. Mostly, tho' he's going after fam'lies who are against 'im." Fitch trailed off, but then looked up at Draco with a gleam in his eyes.

"What aren't you telling me, Fitch?" asked Draco.

"D'yuh really wanna know?" asked Fitch. "It'll cost yuh sometin' extra."

"I am well prepared to meet your price," said Draco, "but I am not paying out more money to hear some sort of made-up babble about the Dark Lord's love interests. You'll say your bit, and I will pay you if I deem it important."

Fitch was too drunk to object and he leaned in closer, motioning Draco to do likewise. Draco inclined his head forward just an inch, still keeping one eye on the other wizards in the bar.

"The Dark Lord is ver' angry with one of 'is mos' trusted followers," said Fitch. "Don' know why, but he's ver' angry, angry to the point of leavin' her out for Azkaban. 'Course, he broke 'er out again, but he was provin' a point, yuh know?"

"Who did he prove a point to?" asked Draco, now thoroughly intrigued. The Dark Lord purposefully leaving one of his inner circle to the Aurors and Azkaban?"

"Bellatr'x Lestrange," whispered Fitch. "T'wasn't in the papers that she was caught. Fudge kept it quiet, savin' the story to 'lection time, so he get re'lected again as Minister, but the Dark Lord got 'er out again two days later, so the story never went public-like."

Bellatrix Lestrange? On the bad side of the Dark Lord? Now that was something worth looking into.

"My thanks, Mr. Fitch," said Draco politely, making sure that his face did not betray the fact that he found the tidbit of information as interesting as he did. He would have to talk to Severus, maybe he would know what had happened with his Aunt. He placed five galleons on the table and slid them over to the drunk.

"Ten," said Fitch.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I wan' ten," said Fitch.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Fitch. I am already being quite generous."

"Oh, yuh's father's gonna be even more gen'rous, boy," said Fitch, getting a decidedly evil glint to his eyes.

Draco saw the four men get up behind him by the reflection in the metal cup, which had been one of the reasons he had ordered the Acid Sherbet.

"Mr. Fitch, I would advise you to rethink your actions," said Draco. "You're going to get yourself in a lot of trouble."

"Not nearly as much trouble as you," said Fitch, dropping the drunken, faltering speech. "How much is your father worth? And how much exactly will he pay for you?"

Draco sighed. While the information had been good, he really did not want to have to deal with would-be kidnappers.

He was grabbed roughly from behind, but the man who had grabbed him had latched onto his shoulders around the chair. Draco merely stood and kicked the chair so that the back of the seat caught the man in the groin with a rather large amount of force.

The man doubled over and dropped and Draco whirled around, his wand drawn and held in a perfected dueler's grip. He took out one man in a split second with the ear drum bursting curse, which not only caused intense pain but also a lack of balance and coordination that could take up to a month to be fully restored.

Draco didn't stop after toppling him, but turned to the other two who responded with a barrage of hexes, and Draco reached out with Legilimency to counter everyone they sent his way since they were good enough not to have to speak their curses. In truth, a lifetime spent learning Dark Curses and dueling made Draco fast enough and smart enough so that he didn't need the extra second Legilimency gave him. He could recognize and counter the curse by the color or shape of the magic in the time it took for it to fly to him, but he was not foolish enough to disregard the help of mind-reading. The magic being used was Dark Magic, and so one mistake could be the last mistake.

In the middle of blocking the curses, he sent out two of his own. One hit the man on the left, throwing him backwards with a bolt of lightning that left him convulsing on the floor. The man on the right blocked the curse he sent, so Draco sent another, and another, and another, even sending one to the man who had received the chair to the groin, making sure he stayed down.

The man on the right finally collapsed when an energy-draining curse took hold of him, and then Draco stunned all four of the men. Draco turned back to Fitch, who was too dumbfounded at the fact that a mere teenager had taken out his men to realize he should run. When the thought finally occurred to him to flee, Draco merely petrified him then levitated him on the table. He took the charm off the man's mouth and pried it open with his right hand. With his left he reached over to the Acid Sherbet and sealed the top of the metal straw with his thumb and then pulled it out.

"I don't appreciate being almost kidnapped, Fitch," he said. "Here I was, paying you good money for information, now is that fair that you turn on me?"

He let go of Fitch's mouth and the man started blubbering.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please, don't to anything to me, please!"

"Tell me Fitch," said Draco, "did you think of this little kidnapping scheme all by yourself, or did someone hire you?"

"No!" said Fitch, too quickly. "No one hired me, I swear."

Draco stuck the straw in between Fitch's lips and took his thumb off the top. The acid liquid that had been trapped inside due to the pressure flowed out onto Fitch's tongue and the man screamed and his body spasmed, as if trying to move, but was unable to because of the hex.

The liquid was not as acidic as it could have been, as most of the sherbet had dissolved, but it still stripped the first layer of skin off of Fitch's tongue and mouth.

"Don't lie to me Fitch," said Draco. "It makes me angry."

"Damn you, you little bastard!" Fitch hissed, flecks of blood spewing from his mouth. Draco stepped back to avoid the red liquid.

"A name Fitch," said Draco. "That's all that will save you now."

Fitch shut his mouth. Draco got more acid in the straw and pried Fitch's mouth open by squeezing the precise point on the jaw, then dropped the acid in once more. Fitch screamed again.

"I need a name!" demanded Draco. "Or I swear, I will dissolve your tongue straight through, and then start on your cheeks."

Fitch believed him, and that was all that mattered.

"Alright, alright," said Fitch, spitting out blood. "I don't know his name. All he said was to capture the Malfoy brat and we'd hold him for ransom."

He was lying, or holding something back. Draco could see it in the way his eyes drifted to the side and how his face gained more color.

"Why are you lying, Fitch?" asked Draco.

"I-I'm not," Fitch stuttered.

"Crucio," said Draco calmly.

Fitch screamed. Draco let him yell, sitting back in his chair and picking up his Acid Sherbet, looking at the now melted liquid but deciding that he really didn't want it. He hadn't bought it to drink. He set it back down on the table and took the curse off, ignoring the suddenly uneasy glances he was receiving. Truth-be-told, he could have done much, much worse.

"What did you say Fitch?"

If Fitch was anything, he was a fast learner.

"He was going to take you to the Dark Lord," Fitch hissed. "We were going to make it look like a kidnapping, but then he would take you to the Dark Lord and me and my men would get paid."

Not good. The Dark Lord, or at least one of his Death Eaters, was out to get him.

"What did he look like?" Draco asked.

"I don't know," said Fitch. "It was through letters only."

"So you never met him," said Draco. "Never saw his face or his form."

"No."

"Did he know what questions I was asking you?"

"Of course not," said Fitch indignantly. "That's client confidentiality."

Draco had to laugh silently at the backwards rules of the Underground, where it was quite all right to turn on a client and try to kidnap him, but unthinkable to tell anyone what questions they were asking.

"Very well," said Draco, raising his wand again. "Obliviate."

Normally, the bar costumers wouldn't be phased by such a brawl, or if they were, they would quickly ignore it. This time it took longer for the pub to go back to normal than usual, but that was because no one expected a teenager to possess that sort of power and skill. Draco had proved himself quite well, but he did not say to revel in that sort of tarnished glory. He walked out of the bar and then Apparated away.

Once at his flat, he made himself a cup of tea and sat on his couch, staring at nothing. The Dark Lord was mad at Bellatrix Lestrange, and someone, most likely a Death Eater, had it out for him. He only wished he knew more. Without information, he would have nothing, no clues, no insights. It was like flying blind. The Order at least had Snape.

Now that was a thought, Snape. He doubted, however, that the Potions Master would really tell him what he found out at the Death Eater meetings. He and the professor were not close, contrary to popular belief, and Snape would not trust him enough with the information, which was only prudent. Besides, the Order would not take kindly to him trespassing on their spy. No, he needed another way to get answers, but right now, he couldn't think of any.

He sighed and went into his study, intent on finishing the translation of the Persian dialect he had decoded. Bill would love to see it and as he was leaving for France in a few weeks, Draco wanted to teach it to the former Professor so they could use it in sending messages.

He went to bed early, for him at least, and spent most of the night thinking, but actually got a decent night's sleep in the hours he was out. He woke at six on Saturday, and showered and dressed, and decided that he would actually like school to start soon because he was rather bored. After a while, self-motivation isn't what it once was.

He settled himself for pouring a bowl of dry cereal and setting it on the keyboard along with his music. He had spelled a quill to write out the musical notes as he played, it was just a variation on the dict-a-quill, so whenever he came up with something good he didn't have to stop every three notes to write.

Most people do not wake up at six in the morning on Saturdays, or even seven, so when seven-thirty came around and there was a knock on the door, he was mildly intrigued.

"Hey, Draco, you awake?" came the voice after the knock.

Draco frowned, played a quick glissando, and then called back.

"The hell you doing, Bill?"

"Knocking on your door," came the response. "But shouldn't you already have figured that out? I mean, you are a genius and all."

Draco, out of habit, forced his lips not to smile at that. He got up, grabbed his wand off the mantle, and looked through the peephole before opening the door to admit both Bill and Dumbledore. He shut and locked it, once the two Order members were in the flat.

"Can I get you some tea or coffee?" he asked. Good manners were taught at the Malfoy home, even though the Malfoy's didn't always use them, but this was one of those occasions where etiquette would be followed.

"Some coffee would be great," said Bill.

"Tea, please," said Dumbledore.

"Have a seat," said Draco, gesturing to the sofa and armchairs. "I'll be right back."

Dumbledore sat; Bill didn't. Draco could hear him plinking out the melody he had just written on the keyboard.

"I like it," Bill called into the kitchen. "Another symphony?"

Draco scowled slightly, because now Dumbledore would know that he had written an orchestral movement, but answered anyway, because Bill was his friend after all.

"Just piano," he said. "Maybe a few other instruments for a jazz band."

"Did you decorate the apartment yourself?" Bill asked, now changing topics.

"Hired a designer," said Draco.

"It's nice," said Bill. "I thought you would have gone for the dark, mysterious look though."

Draco smirked at that. The flat was rather…bright. There was an ivory carpet with the navy corduroy furniture, the cherry wood coffee table, and then the abstract paintings and the lamps that were very modern. It was a contemporary look, but done tastefully and with a great sense of style.

"Holy shit!"

The exclamation was from Bill, and Draco got mildly concerned, glancing out the kitchen to see that Bill was not in the living room, but rather down the hall and in the study.

"You did it!"

So, he had found the Ancient Runes taped along the walls then. Draco let the water boil on the stove and walked in, Dumbledore joining them as well.

"The Persian Runes," said the Headmaster, clearly surprised and impressed.

"Yeah," said Draco. "Well, only one of them. But it was the fifth one. You were right when you said they might be out of place, Bill."

"How did you figure it out?" the former-Professor asked, reading the translation over and then turning to Draco, his hazel eyes shining brightly.

"Here," said Draco, opening up a drawer on his desk and pulling out a journal that had his notes in it. Actually, it was the journal Bill had given him as a gift when they first started the ruins.

Bill flipped it open, rummaging through the pages. "Incredible," he breathed. "So it was the grammar syntax of the Gaelic runes."

"Yeah," said Draco.

Bill looked as if his face would split he was smiling so hard. Draco felt a little uncomfortable, he always did around large displays of emotion, but the kettle shrieking in the kitchen gave him an excuse to leave. He put the mugs on a tray, along with cream and sugar, and brought it into the living room where Bill and Dumbledore took their place on the sofa. Draco set the tray down on the coffee table, and than sat across from them in an armchair, taking his own cup of coffee.

Bill was still grinning, even as he poured cream in his coffee, and took a sip.

"So," said Draco, once his guests were done fixing their drinks. "What brings you here?"

Bill's smile faded, and considering how happy he had been a moment ago, Draco felt more than a little wary.

"That bad?" he asked.

"It's not bad news, necessarily," said Bill. "It's more of a…request."

Draco's indifferent and uninterested façade took over, leaving his face completely blank and his expression cold. Bill noticed and fidgeted in his seat, looking over at Dumbledore.

"We are not forcing you to do anything, if you don't wish to," he said. "It's merely something that you could help us with."

"And it is?" Draco prodded, an edge to his voice.

"Death Eaters are guarding Harry's house," said Dumbledore. "Because of the wards, they can't do anything except watch, which is fine with us, however we recently learned of an attack planned by the Death Eaters, and while they cannot go inside the house, they can force Harry _out_."

"And the attack would be when?" asked Draco, idly staring at his coffee though his mind was already spinning.

"Tonight," said Dumbledore.

"And you want me to go get him," said Draco. He looked up to see their surprised faces. "That is the reason you are here. I sincerely doubt you would be telling me this so I can keep a candle burning for you when you attempt the rescue, which brings us to the main question: Why do you need me to get Harry?"

He raised his eyebrow at them, taking a sip of his coffee as Dumbledore began to explain.

"The Death Eaters have set up wards of their own around Harry's house. Not harmful wards, but ones that would allow them to read magical auras, much like the Ministry detects an under-aged witch or wizard doing magic. Tom has also fallen into the habit of attacking the families of those who oppose him. Just last month, Andromeda Tonks was injured by Death Eaters and Ronald and Molly Weasley were accosted three weeks ago, again by Tom's followers."

Draco looked up at that, making eye contact with Bill, the question in his eyes.

"They're fine," said Bill. "Just a little shaken up."

"Good," said Draco, and then because he had looked concerned, he changed the subject. "And you chose me because the only family I have that will reap the punishments for my actions are my Death Eater family members."

"No," said Bill. "No, it's not like that at all."

Draco quirked an eyebrow and Dumbledore jumped in. "Bill suggested that you might have a means of doing magic that won't be linked to you in anyway."

Yes, his unregistered wand. He had figured that it had been something like that. Draco knew that him going to get Potter would make the most sense, since he did have the unregistered wand, but that did not mean he was thrilled at the aspect of picking up Potter, although this did present an interesting opportunity…

"Alright," he said.

"Alright?" asked Bill, clearly astounded at his easy compliance.

"Don't worry Bill," said Draco, "I'm not completely self-sacrificing yet. I have conditions."

Bill looked a little uneasy, shooting a glance at Dumbledore. The Headmaster actually looked like he had been looking forward to this. Draco wondered if he ever got bored with dealing with people who were willing to lay down their life at the drop of a hat and never being challenged with the tricky alliances of Slytherins. Of course, he did have Snape, but Snape spying on the Dark Lord was also a rather Gryffindorish thing to do.

""What are they?" asked Dumbledore.

"I want to talk to Professor Snape," said Draco. "I want to know what he is reporting to you, and I want to be kept updated on the information."

"You'll have to join the Order than," said Dumbledore.

"Not happening," said Draco, finality in his voice.

"The Order is privy to the information Severus brings because they work to prevent attacks," said Dumbledore. "What will you be doing with the information?"

"Staying alive," said Draco. "I was out the other night and an attempt was made to take me to the Dark Lord."

Bill sat forward at that, alarm in his eyes, but Dumbledore didn't look surprised. Draco wondered if the old man had spies in Knockturn Alley, and then figured that it was more than probable.

"I heard of that," said Dumbledore, confirming his suspicions. "I also heard that you proved yourself to be very skilled and cunning, but also ruthless."

The blue eyes were not condoning or approving, rather they locked onto his own, with the knowledge of what he had done, and Draco felt the slightest bit guilty and he looked away, avoiding both Dumbledore's gaze and Bill's inquiring one.

"I think we can reach a compromise," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling once more. "I will let you talk to Severus, but your conversation will be monitored. There is some information that will not be revealed to you, is that acceptable?"

"It is," said Draco, figuring it was the best deal he would get, and it was a rather good one. "Where should he be dropped off?"

"My house," said Bill. "I'll take him to the Order immediately afterwards. 56 North Ridge. Do you need directions?"

"I can find a map," said Draco shrugging.

"Harry lives with his aunt and uncle," said Dumbledore. "Their address is-,"

"Privet Drive. Number 4," said Draco. "What time should I get him?"

"Late morning should be sufficient," said Dumbledore. "We don't want to disturb the neighbors. And you can give Harry this letter." Dumbledore pulled a piece of parchment out of his robes and handed it to Draco. "It explains to Harry why you are picking him up."

"Wait," said Draco. "He doesn't know that I'm coming to get him?"

"His mail is being monitored by the Death Eaters as well, so we can't really send him a message," said Bill, apologetically.

Draco slumped a bit in his chair. He could just imagine the scenario now. Potter, wand drawn and shouting curses at him, himself blocking them, the Death Eaters taking the opportunity to start a fire, forcing them all outside, and then killing them both. He frowned.

"It'll be fine," said Dumbledore. "Just give him the letter."

The Headmaster stood, obviously signaling the end of the meeting. Draco rose as well and walked them both to the door.

"Thanks for this," said Bill.

Draco sneered slightly, just to let Bill know that he wasn't doing this out of the goodness of his heart, and Bill only grinned in response. He waited until the two Order members had left and then went back to his keyboard. He still had time before he needed to play chauffer.

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"What's this about someone trying to kidnap Draco and take him to Voldemort?" asked Bill, once he and the Headmaster were out of Draco's very nice flat. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"He took care of it," said Dumbledore. "He is more than capable of taking care of himself, and even if he hadn't, Kingsley was there, looking into a leak for the Ministry, and so he would have been able to step in if things had gone wrong."

"If it had been anyone else, you would have told their relatives," said Bill. "Draco doesn't have any, that would care at least, and I think that it's only fair that someone else know these things are happening so they can keep an eye open for him, or help him if he does get hurt."

"Are you suggesting that you wish to keep updated on him?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yes," said Bill.

"You're not his parent, Bill."

"Thank Merlin," said Bill, "but still, he's my friend, and he saved my life. I would like to know when something like this happens."

"He won't like anyone prying into his business," said Dumbledore.

"I know," said Bill, "But he expects it of me. So what exactly happened?"

"As far as Kingsley could tell, Draco was meeting an informant in one of the more dangerous areas of Knockturn Alley. The informant turned on him with plans to kidnap Draco and see how much his father would offer for his safe return. Draco managed to subdue five men, including the informant, and then proceeded to interrogate the informant for information on who had sent him. It was then discovered that the ransom was just a cover for their real operation, which was to take Draco to Tom."

"And he was ruthless because?" prodded Bill, wanting the whole story.

"He's not an innocent, Bill," said Dumbledore. "You do know that, right?"

He obviously did not want to spoil Bill's idea of a confused genius struggling to figure out what was right and wrong, however, Bill held no such delusions.

"I am quite aware of that, Headmaster."

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "By interrogating the informant, I mean torturing him. The man received an Acid Sherbet in the mouth while it was still acidic and then the Cruciatus curse."

"Oh," said Bill, not really appalled at what Draco had done. Dumbledore caught that.

"You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not really," said Bill. "Draco used the Imperius when he was helping me escape, and I definitely think that it was necessary. I'm not saying that I don't believe the Unforgivables are bad, it's just that I have a different view on them now. If Draco had wanted to, he could have done far worse to that man, and I wouldn't have held it against him if he had. Voldemort would have done worse to him."

"I see," said Dumbledore.

"You don't seem to upset about Draco using Unforgivables either," said Bill, noticing that the Headmaster seemed hardly disturbed at all.

"It is as you say," said Dumbledore. "Lucius has no doubt taught his son curses that are much worse than 'crucio' in that they are permanent. I have a feeling that Draco was also making a statement to the rest of those gathered in Knockturn Alley as well. As long as he does not make a habit of using Unforgivables, I think he will be fine. Of course, it is a little worrying that he can perform two of the three Unforgiveables, that we know of, at least. The spells take an extreme amount of power, and it just goes to show that we will need to keep a careful eye on him."

"You don't think he'll do anything wrong, do you?" asked Bill.

"Not intentionally, no," said Dumbledore. "But even the best of intentions can lead to grave mistakes, and I do not believe that Draco even means for the best, so we will watch, and step in if necessary, but I think that he will turn out alright. He has an excellent example in you Bill."

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So, in the next chapter, coming out in two days, Draco rescues Harry from his relatives in a silver Cadillac convertible, and no, I do not own Cadillac, so consider yourselves properly disclaimed. Leave a review if you're excited!


	4. Cadillacs and Car Chases

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the case of exhaustion from my new overnight job. Blah!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, here is the promised chapter! Aren't you excited? I will try to keep to a steady updating schedule, most likely updating on Mondays, just so that I don't leave you guys hanging for WEEKS at a time. (bad Aduro, bad!) So yes, read, enjoy, review.

**Lilith**: I like the !ness. It makes me very excited about the review. Glad that you liked it and thank you for forgiving me for such a long wait.  
**Bena24**: Thanks for the review, I'm glad that you are enjoying the story!  
**Spyrit**: Yes, I love snooping Bill too. Someone has to look out for our Draco (huggles!) Ahem, anyway, thanks for reviewing!  
**GREMLIN**: lol, my life right now is revolving around an overnight shift, so I think at this point in my life, I would rather it revolve around fanfic, but alas, the real world calls. Thanks for reviewing, it's always great to hear from you!  
**Mask**: You think you are funny, don't you? Well guess what?...Actually, that was sort of funny…umm, yeah….  
**K: **lol! Thanks for reviewing!  
**Faith Maguire**: Coolness! There will definitely be much Harry in this chapter, and glad to hear that you are spreading my story, that's when you know that it's really good, when it gets recommended. Thanks a lot, and thanks for reviewing!  
**Meirta**: Truth be told, I have to watch myself in not making Draco good all of a sudden, even though he is on that path, so I'm constantly rewriting him, to try and get that balance of a not-quite-good-guy, so I'm glad that you like his character. Thanks for reviewing!  
**The Strange Elf**: Glad that you liked my other story, and I hope the sequel is just as good. Thanks for the review!  
**SlickSlytherin**: Thanks!  
**Carla**: You are totally right! Thanks for the review.

New and Updated French thanks to Poulpette and Kanui d'Astor. Also, a correction on the Quidditch year thanks to Quiescent Vengeance.

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The gleaming silver Cadillac convertible signaled then turned down the quiet street of Privet Drive. It was a sunny day out, and already at ten-thirty in the morning, it was hot, and as it was Saturday, most everyone was inside in the air conditioning watching television. However, as most snooty, small neighborhoods can attest to, the women in such residential areas can be extremely nosy, and the men love cars, so most of the street peeked through lacy white curtains as the fancy car pulled into the driveway of number four.

The car door opened and the occupant stepped out, shutting the door softly and then striding to the front porch where he rang the doorbell.

Vernon Dursley was one of the only people not watching the road; he was watching a particularly important news broadcast on a series of unexplained fires that had swept through England. While normally he would have attributed the fires to the maniacs that made up today's youth, the fact that the news caster was saying several robed figures were spotted at the last fire, he couldn't help but wonder if the fires were started by another source, a source that had ties to his detested nephew who was currently locked in the smallest bedroom upstairs.

Before he could contemplate that thought further, the doorbell was rung.

"Go away!" he shouted, because the screen door was up to catch a breeze since they did not have air conditioning. "We don't want anything!"

"Vernon, dearest," hissed Petunia in the hall, staring at the person at their door. "I don't think he's selling anything."

Vernon heaved his large frame off of the couch and walked to the door, instantly realizing that no, this person wouldn't be selling anything.

It was a young man and Vernon took in every detail. The fine leather shoes, the loose khaki pants, the thin, button-up linen shirt with light blue and grey pinstripes (the first two buttons undone), the navy suit jacket on top of that, the designer, blue-tinted sunglasses, and shocking white-blond hair. No this person wouldn't be a salesman, especially not with that convertible.

"Come in," said Vernon, opening the door so that the neighbors could see that he was on such good terms with an obviously rich young man.

"Thank you," said the young man, who, upon closer inspection, was still a teenager.

"Come into the kitchen," said Petunia. "We have some coffee made, would you like some?"

"Sure," said the teen, his pale lips twitching into a smile that more resembled a smirk.

"I'm Vernon Dursley," said Vernon, sticking his hand out.

"Draco," said the teen. "Draco Malfoy." Draco didn't seem to notice Vernon's outstretched hand, so Vernon hastily withdrew it, frowning slightly at the young man's odd name. He didn't mention it, of course. Draco Malfoy sat at the table and Petunia poured him a cup of coffee in their finest china.

"Thank you," said Draco Malfoy, accepting the cup but waving away any cream or sugar. Vernon added another point in the young man's favor, along with having money and good taste in cars; he drank coffee the man's way.

"So, what brings you here, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Vernon.

"Actually," said the teen, "I'm looking for a classmate of mine."

"Oh," said Petunia, "you must mean Dudders – I mean, Dudley. He's right in the living room."

Malfoy leaned forward to peer into the room and spotted the boy and the lips twitched into that smirky-smile again.

"No, not him," said Draco. "I'm looking for Harry Potter."

Dead silence.

Petunia and Vernon exchanged glances.

Malfoy sipped his coffee, shifted slightly, and pulled out a polished wooden stick from his back pocket and placed it on the table in front of him, casually, like a man would pull his keys from his pocket. The Dursleys stared.

"So you're…one of them," said Vernon, with barely disguised disgust and fear in his voice.

"I should think so," said Draco Malfoy, with a faint, condescending laugh. "I'm a Pureblood. Wizarding has been in my family since before Merlin came about. My father is Monseigneur Lucius Malfoy. I am his only son."

It was said in such a tone that the Dursleys knew they should be both reverent and fearful at the same time They were.

"I'll go get Harry," said Petunia, quickly excusing herself and practically fleeing from the room. Draco tilted the chair back, the wand still in front of him, a self-satisfied smile on the pale lips.

Upstairs the sound of several locks being turned drifted alarmingly well down to the kitchen and Draco frowned, finally reaching up to pull the sunglasses off his face. His cold, steely grey eyes turned on Vernon in a disgusted glare that was not at all lessened by the fact that he was balancing the chair precariously on two legs.

"Wash your face and come down. There's someone here to see you."

That was Petunia's voice and then she descended the stairs, coming back into the kitchen and shrinking under the grey gaze that was turned in her direction. She sat demurely, if not a little frightened, by her husband.

The sound of footsteps running down the stairs was the first indication of Harry, and a second later, the black-haired, green-eyed youth came into the kitchen, pulling up short at the sight of Draco Malfoy lounging at his kitchen table while his Aunt and Uncle kept eyeing the wand in front of him.

Draco set the chair back down on four legs and smirked up at the boy.

"'Lo, Potter," he drawled.

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Draco knew he shouldn't antagonize the boy-hero, but he couldn't resisted the smirk and the ''Lo, Potter' in his slow, infuriating drawl. Harry glared.

"The hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" he asked, and then his hand clenched, and Draco realized that Potter didn't have his wand. His gaze narrowed, wondering if the boy really was as stupid as to forget his wand in his room.

"I'm here to pick you up," he said casually.

"That's a load of bull," said Harry. "What are you really here for? Trying to send Death Eaters here to kill the rest of my family?"

The two horrors that were Harry's Aunt and Uncle stiffened slightly in alarm, but wisely held their tongues.

"Well, then the Death Eaters would be here already, wouldn't they?" asked Draco. "I'd hardly stop for a cup of coffee and a pleasant chat." He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the letter Dumbledore had given him. "Here."

Harry stepped back slightly. "What are you trying to pull, Malfoy?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," said Draco. "It's just a letter, so take it and read it so we can leave. I'd like to get out of here before I grow old."

Harry still hesitated, and while it annoyed Draco, he knew it was smart not to grab anything your arch-nemesis offered you.

"I saved your life, Potter," he said, staring seriously at the green-eyed boy. "When you fell off your broom last year in the Quidditch game, I caught you. You know that, you know it wasn't just some fluke."

"You said I fell into you," retorted Harry.

"It's not like I wanted everyone to know that I saved your life. No offense, Potter, but it's not really high on the list of priorities for Slytherins. Take the letter. I swear on the grave of Merlin it's not a Portkey or hexed or anything else bad."

Harry stared back at him, seeming to read the truth in his eyes because the boy took the letter and opened it. Draco hadn't been able to read the letter, as it was spelled only for Harry, and since it was Dumbledore who had done the spell, Draco hadn't tried to break it.

He took the opportunity to study the other boy as he read. He could see by the way that the clothes swam on him that they must have been hand-me-downs from the huge, fat boy in the other room. The bagginess of the material made it impossible for Draco to gauge how skinny the boy was, but his cheeks were rather sunken in and his hands were bony. He was also pale, and while he was still much tanner than Draco's almost white skin, he could tell that the boy had probably been locked in his room for most of the summer.

Harry looked up to see Draco studying him, but he didn't mention it.

"I'll go pack," he said.

Draco was more than mildly surprised. Even with the letter from Dumbledore, and even though he had revealed that he had saved Harry's life, he had still expected more Death Eater cracks and a slew of questions. However, before he got to quiz Potter on his unexpected obedience, the boy turned to his uncle.

"Uncle Vernon, I'm leaving. Could I please get my stuff?"

Harry's uncle looked elated. "It's about time they came and got you," he muttered, pulling a key from his pocket and walking over to the cupboard under the stairs. Draco knew that, once upon a time, Harry had been locked in the small space, and he wondered just what sort of things they kept there now, so he pocketed his wand and followed the family.

Vernon turned the key and pulled the door open. It was a small, cramped area and Draco felt a surge of hatred towards the Dursleys for locking anyone in there. Yes, Narcissa had, on occasion, locked him in his room, but he had a whole suite to himself. He wondered if Harry suffered from claustrophobia, or if practically living in a box made him immune. It was an interesting psychological question.

Vernon pulled out the trunk and shoved it down the hall, then he pulled out Harry's Firebolt. "That all, boy?" he asked rather harshly.

Draco raised an eyebrow at the tone, and watched as Harry turned red, no doubt from the shame of having his school rival know about his less-than-perfect home life.

"My wand," he said quietly.

Draco would have been amused at how Vernon and Petunia flinched at the word 'wand', much how witches and wizards flinched at the name of Voldemort, but that was overshadowed by the inexplicable anger Draco felt at the fact that they had locked away Harry's wand.

In wizarding families, taking away a wand, even as a punishment, was worse than child abuse. To leave anyone without a means to do magic is unthinkable, and besides, this was _Harry_ _Potter_. Didn't they know that Death Eaters could have attacked? Didn't they know that without his wand a wizard is as good as much as dead? Didn't they know that if Potter died, their race would be wiped out?

He was so outraged that he opened his mouth to tell off Potter's uncle, but he caught himself just in time and merely waited until Harry had gone back upstairs before turning on the Muggles.

He pulled out his wand and tapped the cupboard door, muttering a string of Latin.

"What did you do?" demanded Vernon, stepping forward angrily, but then shrinking back once Draco turned his coldest glare on him.

"I cursed you," said Draco. "You will never again be able to lock things inside of this cupboard. If you do, your house, and all of your worldly possessions will burn. If I were you, I would lock that cupboard back up, and throw away the key."

Vernon gaped at him and then he and his wife retreated back into the living room. A few minutes later and Harry came down, his trunk thunking down the stairs behind him, holding his owl in its cage as well as his broom.

Draco wordlessly waved his wand and shrunk the broom while it was still in Potter's hand.

"Hey!" yelped Harry, startled at the sudden change in size.

"I don't have room for all of your junk in my car," said Draco as the Firebolt was reduced to the size of a quill. He shrunk the trunk next to the size of a large shoe box. "Let's go," he said, not offering to help Potter carry the things, and not even holding the door for him. He went straight to his car and climbed in.

Harry followed, stopping on the front porch and staring at the convertible.

"That's yours?" he asked.

"Yes," said Draco.

"Can you even drive?" asked Harry. He put his things in the back and shut the door, stepping back to study the vehicle carefully then turning to Draco again. "Do you even have your license?"

"Merlin, Potter," said Draco. "Get in already."

"Not until I know why you are picking me up," said Harry.

Finally, Draco thought, here come the questions.

"Didn't Dumbledore explain in the letter?" he returned.

"He said to go with you," said Harry. "Nothing more. So why are you picking me up?"

"Because Death Eaters are going to be attacking your house later tonight," said Draco, shrugging slightly as if it happened all of the time. To his surprise, Harry ran back in the house.

"Uncle Vernon!" Draco could hear through the screen. "You might want to leave the house. The bad wiz-people might be coming tonight, so you should leave."

There was an explosion of noise, mainly from Harry's uncle bellowing oaths and a shriek from the aunt. He could see a flurry of motion in the house and then Harry came out again, a subdued expression on his face. He got into the car and buckled his seat belt.

"You really are a Gryffindor, aren't you?" asked Draco. "I would have left them for the Death Eaters." He started the engine, cutting off any remark Harry might have made, then backed out of the driveway and started down the road. He glanced over when Harry pulled off his large sweater, to reveal an equally large t-shirt, but Draco still got a good look at a very skinny body.

Draco turned on the main road and Harry spoke up again.

"Why are you picking me up?"

"You just asked," said Draco.

"No," said Harry. "Why are _you_ picking me up?"

Draco sneered slightly. "Concerned that I might have faked the letter and am taking you to the Dark Lord?"

"You won't," said Harry. His voice was convinced, as if he truly believed that.

Draco shot him a look and then returned to watching the road.

"You had better hope your assumption is correct, Potter, else the Dark Lord might finally succeed where he failed sixteen years ago."

"He failed with you," said Harry.

Draco glanced over. "What are you talking about Potter?" he demanded. "What did the letter say?" If Dumbledore had dared to tell Potter about him refusing the Dark Lord, he would personally turn the entire Order in to the racist madman.

"It gave the address of the Order, so I would now it was him, and then it said to go with you. Nothing more."

"Then what the hell are you talking about?"

Harry paused. "It's…rather ironic, really. The boy they want to kill Voldemort, the one that they want to be the complete opposite to him, actually has a strong…bond with him."

"Bond?" asked Draco. He could see Harry reach up to rub his scar out of the corner of his eye.

"Something like it," said Harry. "I can feel it when he's angry or happy, or feeling a strong emotion. Sometimes, I get visions."

"I'm assuming not prophetic ones," said Draco.

"No, things that are happening right then, but through Voldemort's eyes."

Draco had a sudden sinking feeling as he could pretty much guess what had happened, but he remained quiet, even as he felt Harry's eyes turn on him.

"So," said Harry, "the night after school let out I saw a bunch of initiates. It was sick, you know, the way they actually wanted to join, even though he was crucioing them, how he _liked_ to crucio them."

Draco stiffened, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

"I saw you there," said Harry. "He saved you for last on purpose. He liked your answers by the way, but I thought it was unfair that he still cursed you even though you got them all right, crucioing you for being perfect.

"'Crucioing' isn't a word," said Draco, wanting the subject changed.

"Four times was it?" asked Harry.

Draco couldn't help but flinch. "Something like it," he said.

"Anyway, as much as I hated you right then, I felt bad for you, but then you turned him down, even though he wanted you to be his heir. Feel like explaining that one?"

"Not exactly," said Draco.

"But I told you my story," said Harry.

"We never had a deal."

"Something must have happened. Was it a sudden epiphany?"

"I didn't know you could use such big words," said Draco, rather snidely.

"Don't be a bastard, Malfoy," said Harry. "I'm trying to be nice here."

"So trying to be nice includes calling me a bastard?"

"You know, if you weren't so much of a prat, you wouldn't be half bad."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," said Draco. He pulled into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant and then stopped at the drive-through.

"Hello," crackled the voice over the speaker, and then there was a bit of static ending with "-order, please?"

"A cheeseburger meal with onion rings and a medium vanilla milkshake," said Draco.

"Is that all?" asked the voice.

"And a medium chocolate milk shake," said Draco.

There was more static, which Draco supposed was the amount due, but he could add numbers together easily and add on tax. He was, after all, a genius. He pulled up to the window and gave the cashier exact change and received the bag of food.

"Here," said Draco, giving the bag to Harry. "Eat."

"What?" asked Harry.

"You're skinnier than a thestral, Potter. What do they do, starve you?"

Harry flushed red and Draco pulled back out onto the main road and held out his hand.

"The chocolate milkshake is mine," he said.

Harry handed him the plastic cup and Draco had to really suck on the straw for the ice cream to get through, but it was surprisingly good for a fast food chain.

"So," said Draco, "they lock you up and starve you, and then lock your things away. I'm assuming that they don't really like magic?"

"You're a regular genius, Malfoy," said Harry, around a bite of cheeseburger.

"Don't get anything on the leather, alright?" asked Draco.

"Sure," said Harry. He ate the rest of the meal in silence, and rather quickly as well.

"So, where are we going?" asked Harry, once he was finished with his lunch.

"Bill's house," said Draco.

"Bill? Bill Weasley?"

"Yeah," said Draco. He was about to say more, but then Harry reached up and rubbed his forehead.

"What's wrong?" asked Draco.

"You know that bond thing?" asked Harry.

"What about it?" asked Draco.

"Well, I can sort of tell when he's feeling a strong emotion, and now he's pretty much furious."

"He must have figured out that you left," said Draco.

"I think he figured out a while ago actually," said Harry. "It's been steadily growing."

"And you decide to tell me this now?" asked Draco.

"It's not like we can actually do something about it," said Harry.

Draco figured he had a point so he didn't say anything, though they were both on edge. Draco was just beginning to think that maybe nothing was going to happen, when he glanced out the review mirror and his stomach clenched. There were three robed figures with white masks riding on brooms and they were quickly catching up with them.

"Shit!"

"What?"

"Potter, get down!"

Draco didn't wait for Harry to comply; he reached over and shoved the black-haired boy down, just as a spell ricocheted off the smooth metal of the trunk, whizzing inches away from where Harry's head had been.

Draco was immensely grateful that the road they were on right then was wide and with almost no traffic. He stomped on the brake, yanking the wheel hard to the right, swinging the car around with a squeal of tire on pavement to face the mounted Death Eaters. His wand was in his hand in the next instant and then he was flooring the accelerator.

"Flabrorum!" he shouted. It was a spell uniquely suited for these sorts of encounters as it caused a shockwave of wind to emit from his wand. It flipped one Death Eaters off his broom, the man falling twenty feet and staying down, and caused another to veer left, out of control. He kept his foot on the gas, putting the Death Eaters behind him, but the third was undaunted. He could see the rider in his review mirror, casting curses at the car.

One hit and the windshield shattered. Draco threw up a hand to protect his face from the onslaught of glass, and he felt a sharp bite of pain in his forearm. Potter had simply dropped to the floor, and now he was sitting up, twisted backwards in his seat as he began returning fire.

"Hold on!" Draco yelled to Harry as he glimpsed the road ahead. It was an intersection and there were cars crossing the perpendicular road. There was no way Draco could make it across the bisecting street and so he merely jerked the wheel right when they came to the traffic light. The car slid slightly, as it wasn't meant for such abuse, but he managed to hold the road, turning onto the other road, speeding ahead. He could hear a series of crashes and frenzied shouting behind them, but he didn't look back. He knew what had happened: Muggles had just got their first look at a flying broomstick.

He accelerated further, passing the two cars ahead of him by driving on the shoulder, and then pulling back on the road.

"He still behind us Potter?" he asked, swerving into the opposite lane to pass another car. They were going to be getting on a highway soon, at least, that was where this road led, and a highway meant more cars which meant more difficulty getting away. The broom was more agile than they were, and the Death Eater could merely blast cars out of his way, and while Draco _could_ do the same, he didn't feel that it was exactly morally right.

"He's dropped back a bit," said Harry, crouched in front of his seat, his wand at the ready.

Draco slowed a bit, glancing in the review mirror and trying to remember the map he had studied before going to pick Potter up. If he was right, and he was always right, then he could turn… right… _here_!

He wrenched the wheel right, cutting off a car that honked loudly at him, and sending Harry to the ground, his head smacking the side of the door. He didn't bother to apologize, barreling down a narrow road that was surrounded by trees. The Death Eater took advantage of the lack of Muggles and sped up, slowly gaining on them because Draco wasn't going quite as fast as he could.

"Uh, Malfoy?" asked Potter, his voice strained. "You might want to go a little faster."

There was a hill up ahead and Draco obligingly gunned the convertible so that when they finally crested the top, they were actually airborne for a split second. The next instant and they were under a long railroad bridge that was actually more of a tunnel and Draco jammed the brake.

He supposed his should have warned Harry this time at least, as the back of the boy-hero's head smashed into the dashboard. He quickly doused the engines, leaving them in the black of the tunnel.

"What are-?"

"Shh," hissed Draco, cutting Harry off. He pulled off his seat belt and turned around, crouching low as he could see the Death Eater flying around the entrance of the tunnel, before leaving and flying up high to see if they came out the other end. When no one appeared at the end, the Death Eater slowly flew into the tunnel.

Draco had been considering what curse to use, and he was just about to direct the man's broom into wall quite forcefully when Potter called out a curse of his own.

"Stupefy!"

He had good aim, Draco had to admit as the red light hit the man in the chest and he dropped, but it was a weak curse.

"You might want to look into a more lethal curse next time," said Draco, turning to his classmate and just making out his features. "You know, take him out of the equation, rob the Dark Lord of another follower."

Harry turned to look at him as well and Draco figured that he was much easier to make out in the dark. His skin practically glowed.

"Is that what you would have done?" he asked. "Killed him?"

"Not killed him, per se," said Draco. "Just make him unable to function, but that would just be a little too Slytherin for a bloody Gryffindor, wouldn't it?"

He could see Harry shrug. "The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin," he said casually.

Draco rarely felt surprise, even mild surprise. His ability at reading people was unparalleled, except maybe in comparison to his father and Dumbledore, and because his perceptiveness was paired with genius, he had most people categorized and figured out. So, no, Draco had almost never received a real, honest-to-goodness shock before. Except for now.

He blinked at Harry, too startled to do anything else.

"You," he said. "In Slytherin."

"I suppose I could tell you the story," said Harry, "but you'd have to tell me about not taking Voldemort up on his offer first."

Now _that_ was Slytherin right there, and Draco quirked an eyebrow.

"Very well," he said. After all, Potter already knew he denied the Dark Lord, and no doubt he would talk to Dumbledore when he reached Headquarters, so in reality he would just be telling Harry what he would find out in a little while. "I attended a few Death Eater meetings last summer and saw that the Dark Lord was just a power-crazed madman. I realized that I would rather be the one holding the power than the one bowing, so that was the first point against being a Death Eater. The second is, of course, if blood purity is all that, why the hell is a half-blood leading the purebloods. And the third is I really don't like the constraining membership rules. I can better look after myself if I don't limit my loyalties. Your turn."

Harry was silent for a moment. "Those reasons are very…Slytherin," he said finally.

"Don't tell me you were hoping I changed out of the goodness of my heart, Potter," he said, his sneer coming back into his voice.

Harry laughed. "Even I know that's not possible."

"Good," said Draco. "Now spill. Why were you almost in Slytherin?"

"When I first put the hat on, it said I would do well in Slytherin, that I had a strong desire to prove myself and that it would help me achieve my goals, but you were sorted into Slytherin and Ron said that only bad wizards went there, so I asked it to put me anywhere besides that."

Draco laughed lightly, albeit without any real humor. "The-Boy-Who-Should-Be-Dead-By-Now in Slytherin," he mused. "I never would have guessed. Although, I think it's right about Slytherin helping you achieve your goals. Your problem is you're too Gryffindor."

"Looking out for others instead of myself first?" asked Harry.

"That," said Draco, "but also the fact that you could afford to be a bit more underhanded with your tactics. And you should use every available means necessary, like the Ministry. You could throw your weight around and start an army, or read a list of names of the people you know are Death Eaters and tell people to shun them. Slytherin would have helped you there."

"So you think I should be in Slytherin?" asked Harry.

"Hell no," said Draco. "You have to keep up with appearances. Since this is a battle of good versus evil, you kind of have to be the epitome of fair play and honor and all that other crap that will get you killed."

Harry just laughed and didn't take offense, which Draco supposed was rather nice. He got back in his seat and Harry did as well. He turned the car on, the headlights coming on in the dark only to light on black robes and a white mask on a broom. It was the Death Eater that hadn't been felled by Draco's wind curse and he had snuck up on them while they were talking.

"Merde!"

He jammed the car in drive and smashed down the gas, throwing them forward and smacking into the Death Eater. The man crumpled on the hood of the car, sliding up against the remains of the windshield as Draco continued to accelerate. Once they cleared the tunnel, Draco slammed on the brakes, sending the man flying into the air and then landing hard on the side of the road.

Draco and Harry turned to each other, both of them breathing heavily.

"You alright, Potter?" Draco asked, noticing that the black-haired boy had a large bruise forming on his cheek and that he was holding the back of his head. Harry pulled his hand down and Draco glimpsed a small amount of blood, but otherwise the golden boy looked fine.

"I'm good," said Harry. "You?"

Well, now that he thought of it, there was a shooting pain in his right forearm and upon closer inspection there was a sizeable piece of glass sticking through his jacket sleeve and he didn't know how deep it went, but it was hardly life threatening.

"I'm good," he echoed. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"Agreed," said Harry.

Draco only paused long enough to fix the windshield, and once the glass was fully restored he wasted no time in driving away from their attackers and getting back towards the route to Bill's house.

The last twenty minutes of the trip were, thankfully, uneventful. Their destination was a modestly-sized house with a cheerful front garden and decent lawn area. The other houses on the street were equally friendly, and Draco could see Bill and Fleur being quite happy there. And speaking of the red-haired man, no sooner had Draco pulled into the driveway than the man was at the door.

Draco shut off the engine and the two climbed out. Draco was sure that he felt as relieved as Harry looked, but he maintained his calm façade.

"How was the drive?" asked Bill, coming forward to help unload Harry's things, but then he pulled up at the sight of Harry's face. "The hell happened?"

"Death Eaters," said Draco shortly.

Bill immediately looked concerned, hurrying to grab the trunk-box and ushering the boys inside.

"You can put the things here for now," he told Harry, setting the trunk on the kitchen table. Harry opted to put his owl's cage on the floor, which was much more sanitary.

"Headmaster," Bill called, "they're here."

----------------------------------------------

Harry gladly sank into the chair at the table as Dumbledore and Kingsley came in. Harry was a little surprised to see them, but then he figured that they were here to make sure that the Death Eaters didn't attack, although their presence would have been more helpful on the road.

"What happened?" asked Dumbledore, taking in the bruising on the side of his face where he had smacked it against the door during one of Malfoy's sharp turns.

"Death Eaters," said Harry, letting the Headmaster examine the bruise and then the back of his head.

"We'll get some cream on that once we get to Headquarters," said Dumbledore.

Bill passed over a bag of ice and Harry put it on the back of his head, reveling in the cold that dimmed the throbbing headache he was developing.

"They attacked you?" asked Kingsley. "In full daylight?"

"Is that what you call it when it's all bright outside?" asked Malfoy sarcastically from where he was sitting across the table.

"Draco, be nice," said Bill.

Harry watched as Malfoy smirked at the reprimand but didn't say anything, which was odd. The blond then proceeded to take off his jacket, though he seemed to have some trouble with the right sleeve. Once it was off, Harry realized why.

There was a piece of glass stuck through Malfoy's linen shirt that was slightly stained with blood, though the glass seemed to be holding the rest of the blood back.

"That's sick, Malfoy," he said, unable to think of what else to say, and everyone immediately looked over to see what was wrong.

The grey eyes flickered to his face for a moment, glaring slightly for the attention he gained, before going back to his arm as he carefully pried the shirt up and rolled the sleeve away from the glass. It was even more disgusting seeing the glass stuck in pale white skin.

"Shit, Draco," said Bill. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," said Draco, getting up and walking over to the sink. He jerked the glass shard out of his arm and Harry nearly gagged, but then frowned again as Bill went over to Malfoy's side and helped him wrap a towel around the cut, while Draco muttered something about 'Gryffindorish worry tendencies'.

He realized what was strange then: Bill and Malfoy acted as if they were friends. It was apparent in the way Bill used 'Draco' when addressing the teen as opposed to 'Malfoy' like the rest of the world. He also teased him and scolded him, as if he was another Weasley brother. Malfoy, for his part, seemed to be slightly more at ease because he wouldn't stare so coldly and he also seemed to steer away from the nastier comments when Bill was around.

He wondered what had happened, and then turned back to Dumbledore and Kingsley who were conversing.

"Ministry is going to have a field day with this one," Kingsley was saying. "The Obliviators are going to have to work double-time, and once they find out who was in the car the papers will have a heyday."

"They won't."

That was Malfoy, and Kingsley and Dumbledore looked up as Draco sat back down, holding the kitchen towel to his arm, a slight red stain spreading across the terry-cloth.

"There's a disillusionment on the car," drawled Malfoy. "All of the attention is directed to the car, and not the occupants, as long as they are physically in the car. The Death Eaters knew we were in the car so they could see through the charm, but the reporters will merely think it's a new Death Eater sport, chasing Muggles in cars."

Kingsley frowned at the flippant way Malfoy said it, Dumbledore's eyes merely twinkled, and Bill didn't seem the least bit bothered by the sick description.

"I assume you were able to disarm the Death Eaters then?" asked Dumbledore.

Malfoy gave a 'well _that's_ obvious' look but nodded.

"Hit one with my car, Potter stupefied one, and the other was knocked off his broom by Flagrorum."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, looking delighted. "I knew that spell would come in handy. How did you learn it?"

"Was looking up good ways to win a Quidditch match," said Draco. "Fifth year, Slytherin and Ravenclaw. I thought it was somewhat poetic that you invented it."

Dumbledore had _invented_ it? And Malfoy was admitting to _Dumbledore_ that he had used it to cheat at a Quidditch game?

Harry studied Malfoy, as the blond raised his eyebrow, as if challenging the Headmaster to say anything, as if daring him to punish him.

"Such actions will be punished in the future," said Dumbledore, but he did not look particularly troubled, nor did he look all of that angry. "Especially with your new position."

"Just making sure you know what you're getting yourself into," said Draco. "And I'll only be punished if I get caught."

Harry frowned, completely at a loss to what was going on, but before he could thin on it further, the front door opened and Fleur Weasley entered, looking positively radiant, though she seemed surprised to see them all gathered there.

"Bill," she asked, a warning note in her voice. "What is this?"

Bill looked a little guilty. "Fleur," he said, "you weren't supposed to be back so soon."

"Is this why you sent me out?" asked Fleur, her hands going to her hips and tossing her hair behind her shoulder. "So you could have a secret meeting?" The last bit came out "'ave a zeecret meeting" as her accent intensified from non-existent to full blown as she got angry.

"Well, yes," said Bill, turning a shade of red that rivaled Ron at his most embarrassed. "I just didn't want you to get hurt if something should happen!"

Harry got the gist of the argument. Bill had tricked Fleur out of the house so she could be safe if something bad was to happen, and Fleur wasn't too pleased.

"We are in this together!" she was saying, her accent making the words almost unintelligible. "You promised me no secrets!"

"I worry about you and the baby!" said Bill, trying to make her understand, but then his wife launched into a tirade of French. Harry was pretty sure that Bill didn't understand all of what his wife was saying, but it was clear from the sheepish look that he understood enough to understand.

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling at the couple, because even when they fought it was obvious that they were still hopelessly in love, and Kingsley was poker-faced, but Malfoy seemed to be listening in to the conversation. More than listening though, he seemed to be understanding because after a particularly foul sounding statement from Fleur that made Bill cringe, his lips quirked upwards ever-so-slightly.

But then Bill responded in French as well, and then took Fleur in his arms and their tones changed drastically, from angry and placating, to forgiving and adoring. Harry was quite certain that he did not want to know what they were saying, because they seemed to start a game of sorts, who could make the other blush more. Bill said something low and in a rather sensuous tone, which made Fleur flush. Fleur responded in a sexy voice, which made Bill turn red, but then he said something decidedly dirty, because Fleur went scarlet.

Malfoy, who was looking rather repulsed once the conversation turned gooey, now jerked up in alarm.

"Juste pour vous prévenir," he said loudly, to get their attention. "je comprends tout ce que vous vous racontez..."

"Oh," said Bill, going bright red. "I forgot. Sorry."

Malfoy only shook his head, but Fleur spoke up.

"You have an Eastern French accent," she said. "Are you from France?"

"Draco was born in France," said Bill. "In Paris, actually."

"Ahh," said Fleur. "Enchantée de faire votre connaissance"

"Moi de meme, Madame," said Draco, inclining his head.

Harry was surprised; he had no clue that his school rival was foreign. He wondered if anyone else knew.

"Well then," said Dumbledore. "I must get Harry to Headquarters. Kingsley, would you help Harry with his things? And, Draco, if you-,"

"No," said Malfoy, quite firmly.

Dumbledore merely chuckled. "Very well then," he said. "Good day to you all."

And then the Floo started up.

"Potter," said Malfoy, just as Harry was getting ready to step into the flames. "You tell no one about the events of this afternoon or I will permanently seal your lips together." He looked completely serious.

"That curse is illegal," said Kingsley, not exactly challenging him, but putting out an unthreatening warning.

Malfoy shrugged, smirking slightly. "I have an unregistered wand," he said.

"Draco," said Bill, a parental note in his voice. "Play nice."

Malfoy didn't look sheepish, or even apologetic, but he did stop his comments, turning to Bill with his eyebrow raised. Bill shook his head in helplessness, but then sat in the chair next to Draco with a clean cloth and bandage, trying to see to Draco's arm. Malfoy was being most uncooperative, trying to brush the former-professor off.

Harry turned back to the Floo, eager to get to a place where he wouldn't be so confused. The last thing he heard was Malfoy muttering something about Gryffindors and worry habits.

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Woot! In the next chapter, Draco goes to a code-breaker meeting and discovers that he has a niece. Please review.  
The Translations are as follows.

I am quite aware of what you are saying. Just so you know.

I am pleased to meet you.

Likewsie.

Of course, that's what they're supposed to be, but because I don't speak French, and some of my reviewers do, you'd have to ask them for the literal translations. Review!


	5. The Code Breaker Meeting

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; hence, I am not making any money off of this. Which is actually too bad, because I could really use some cash right now.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: My apologies for putting this up early Tuesday morning as opposed to Monday like I promiesd, but that just goes to show that nothing is certain in life. I really was going to put it up, but the network wouldn't let me because it was too busy or something, so right after my overnight shift, I came back and posted it. Just for you guys. I didn't even take a shower to get all the nasty junk off of me. Now I will though. Bye! Oh, yeah, read and review, because I showed really dedication to you, lol.

**Lilith**: I'm sorry I'm making you wait so long, but it's hard to find the time to write while pulling a job and what not, otherwise, I would gladly update three times a week. But, thanks for reviewing, I love getting your reviews because they're so enthusiastic and make me happy. Like this :-D.  
**Meirta**: Glad that you liked the twist with other POV's after Draco's, because as this story is about Draco learning to make friends, I'm going to be writing several peoples POV's, not just Bill's. Thanks for reviewing.  
**Spyrit**: Yah, I almost felt bad putting the car through all that, especially because I like Caddy's, but don't worry, the car will be fine. Thanks for the review!  
**Carla**: Definitely right about the Hermione being Head Girl, and you nailed the Draco spending more time with the Golden Trio right on the head. Go you. Thanks for reviewing.  
**Pretzel.in.an.egg:** Glad you liked that part, I like writing those sarcastic bits, prolly cause I like being sarcastic. Thanks for reviewing.  
**Gremlin**: I'm glad that you liked the last chapter, it was definitely a fun one to write. As always, it's great to hear from you.  
**R2D2**: 'Made your day'? Aww, thanks!  
**Mask**: I sneer at your face. HA!  
**Guest**: I'm glad that you like my Harry, and I definitely know what you mean about Harry being obnoxious in some stories, hence I have tried very hard to write him in a not so angsty, infuriating way. I'm also glad you liked the car chase. I figured it was something you didn't see everyday in HP fanfic. Thanks for the review!  
**Jill**: Glad you like the French, I just think men speaking other languages is rather sexy. Thanks for the review.  
Faith Maguire: Hey, thanks! If there's one thing I try to do, it's keep the characters in character, so I'm glad I'm doing a passable job. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Dbi626**: What happens now indeed? Well, Harry will be more accepting of Draco, but since he's a Gryffindor, he's keeping Draco's secret safe. But still, the future interactions will be fun to see.  
**Slickslytherin**: Good luck on your story. Let me know what it's called and I'll check it out.  
**Bena24**: Lol, short and to the point. Like it.  
**E-san**: I will never leave a story half finished, unless of course unforeseeable incidences occur. Sorry to keep you on edge like that, and I will be following a better updating schedule from now on. Thanks for the review.  
**Astaroth**: Thanks!

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Draco received the owl about his position as Head Boy on Monday morning. Accompanying the usual Hogwarts information was another letter, one that was carefully spelled to open up only to him. He quickly scanned the contents and then smirked as he realized the letter was written in code, a simple code, so that everyone would be able to figure it out, but a code none-the-less.

Ignoring his breakfast, he pulled out a notebook, flipped to a clean page, and began writing out the translation. The message only said that the meeting for the code breakers was to be on Tuesday at seven in the evening at Hogwarts. He supposed the location made sense. The Dark Lord had never been able to set foot in Hogwarts, at least, not since he became the Dark Lord.

Draco put the letter down, wondering who the other code breakers were. He already knew the Head Girl would be Granger and he made a slight face. She was going to be unbearable.

Draco spent the day fixing his car from its encounter with the Death Eaters. It was nothing bad, a few dents here and there, but he liked his car and so he made sure that everything was in perfect condition. He then took it through the car wash.

Tuesday came with a rain storm in the morning. Draco finished translating the fifth Persian runes while listening to the sound of thunder and rain. It was a long storm, and once it had past, it left the temperature much lower than it had been the day before. The weather seemed more appropriate for early fall than summer but Draco didn't really mind; he was fond of the cooler weather.

He had planned on going to Hogwarts a little early, if not on time, but at twenty of seven, Bill Flooed into his living room. Draco had been playing the keyboard and he raised his eyebrow at the red-haired man.

"Need anything?" he asked.

"I thought we'd head over together," said Bill.

"You're going?" asked Draco. "I thought it was just a code breaker thing."

"It is," said Bill, "but I'm teaching the lesson along with some snooty guy. Alberich Centworthy. He thinks he's Merlin's gift to the wizarding world. You'll hate him."

"Centworthy," said Draco. "He did the Gaelic runes, didn't he?"

"That's the one," said Bill. "So, are you coming?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Bill. "You didn't just come over to walk me there, did you?" he asked.

"Weeellll, not really," said Bill. "Kingsley and I have a bet going. He thinks that you're going to be completely out of your league at the meeting, because there are a bunch of smart people there, and I said that you were going to be out of their league because you were so much smarter."

"How much did you put on me?" asked Draco.

"Ten galleons," said Bill. "So, don't hold back, alright?"

Draco smirked. "I won't," he said.

He walked over to his closet and pulled out his jacket, then noticed Bill staring at it.

"That's not yours, is it?" Bill asked.

Draco pulled it on. "I got it from this guy named Mark. I met him when I left and stayed with him for a couple of days, helping him fix cars. This was his when he was younger, and he gave it to me because he said I dressed too nicely for a car mechanic."

The jacket was an olive green khaki material with zippered pockets and brass buttons that lent it a faint military look. That image was destroyed by the patches sewn on the sleeves and hem that boasted of various rock and punk bands. The material was torn in a few places, and it appeared to be permanently wrinkled, but it fit Draco perfectly, and it was comfortable. Besides, he knew that all of his old acquaintances and family would pitch a fit if they saw it, so he wore it along with an evil smirk on his face.

"Just when I thought I had you figured out," said Bill, shaking his head.

Draco pocketed his wand, the registered one, since he would be in the company of Aurors and Ministry officials and then he and Bill Apparated to Hogsmeade and walked up to Hogwarts together.

They arrived a few minutes late, because they took their time walking to the school, but Bill was helping teach, so it wasn't as if they could start without him.

They reached the room on the second floor and entered. A hush fell over the room and everyone turned to stare at them, or more specifically, Draco. He stared right back.

The room was large with Kingsley and another man, who was presumable Centworthy, at the front. Eight desks were set in four rows, and by each desk was a chalkboard set on a wheeled stand. Six code breakers were already gathered and Draco only knew one of them. Hermione Granger was sitting in the third row and her expression mirrored everyone else's: confusion, surprise, and a little bit of fear.

"Sorry I'm late," said Bill, striding forward, taking the attention off of Draco, who took the opportunity to slide into the last row desk, the one that wasn't behind Granger, sprawling slightly in the seat.

"Thank you all for coming," said Bill. "Although this operation will rely mainly on your individual efforts, right now I want us all to get to know each other. Information is the key, and I want all of you to be informed on what is going on. Let's go around the room then and tell everyone our names, and then the contact you are paired with. We'll start in the front and go around to the back. After you introduce yourself, you will be given a paper to sign, and you will swear secrecy. The paper that you are signing makes it impossible to tell anyone of this operation who is not already involved without suffering the consequences, which is an immediate sleeping spell, which will then give the Aurors time to get to you before you reveal anything else. The appropriate punishment will then be administered."

The room, which had been silent before, now went deathly still, as everyone fully realized what it was they were getting into.

"If you do not wish to continue, you can leave now," said Bill. "You will, of course, be obliviated."

For as much as everyone looked terrified, no one moved, and the introductions began. Draco paid close attention as "Harriet Lester" began because any bit of information might come into handy.

The code breakers were an odd assortment of people, from the completely unknown, like house wife Harriet Lester to Lorenzo Holiday, a man with thinning grey hair who thought the world of himself. Of course, the fact that he was the writer of six different books on Ancient Runes and was the translator responsible for the Turkish Runes, gave him a lot of fame, fortune, and glory. Draco didn't know who he disliked more, Lorenzo or Alberich, the other teacher who strutted across the floor, giving a paper to each person as they introduced themselves.

Granger went second to last and she was paired with Riley Martin. Draco knew the name. She was an Auror who was half German, and Draco could safely assume that Martin would be in her mother's home country spying on Death Eaters there.

He noticed that when it came his turn to introduce himself, after Granger signed the paper, everyone turned to look at him curiously. So he gave his best Malfoy smirk and drawled out, "Draco Malfoy, I'm paired with Bill."

He said nothing more, which he knew was infuriating.

"Do you, Draco Malfoy, swear to keep this safe and secret until the necessity for secrecy is no more?" asked Alberich.

"Yes," said Draco, and then he took the quill Alberich offered and signed his name without hesitation.

The spell used on the parchment was old magic, and according to the old laws (which were practically forgotten, except in old Pureblood families), once a person was disowned, their last name was no longer theirs. However, due to legal reasons, a person could now retain their last name even in disownment although these oath spells were not changed. So Draco signed the paper 'Draco Lucius Malfoy' and, according to the spell, there wasn't a Draco Lucius Malfoy anymore, he was simply Draco Lucius, and so the spell had absolutely no hold on him. Of course, he wasn't going to tell anyone that.

"We had a last minute cancellation," said Bill, when those gathered looked questioningly at the empty desk beside Draco. "So we will have to find another code breaker, but for now, let's get started."

With everyone's attention drawn back to him, Bill began running through the overview.

"Your contacts will be scattered about Europe, gathering information on Voldemort's activities. They will send you the information in letters that are coded. It is your job to decode the letters and pass on the information to Kingsley Shacklebolt. You and your contacts will work out your own specific codes to use, but right now, we're going to go over the basics. Mr. Alberich Centworthy will begin."

Bill stepped aside as Alberich strutted forward, and Draco caught the quick eye-roll the red-haired man gave and smirked slightly.

"There are several types of coding used," Alberich began in a nasal voice. "Of course, many of these are extremely complex and so you will find that these might be a bit to complicated for you at first."

Lorenzo Holiday snorted loudly and Alberich looked extremely affronted at being interrupted so. Draco silently sighed and slouched a little in his chair, then caught Bill smiling at him in agreement. Draco was infinitely glad when Alberich quit the speech and pulled out examples of codes. They were simple, painfully so, but he knew that the others needed to start off small.

The types of codes they started were ones written in a normal letter. The date, or a name on the page, would signify which letters were to be used. If the date read 4-10-93, than the fourth letter of the message was circled, and then the tenth after that, and then the ninth and then the third and so on until sentences were formed. While that was relatively simplistic to uncode, it was a hassle to write, and not exactly Death Eater proof.

The second option they were taught was using code words, like 'Uncle Victor left for France today and we don't know when he is coming back, but rumor has it that he is bringing back a large party'. That meant that Voldemort was in France gathering more followers, and again, it was hardly clever enough to fool the Death Eaters, well, maybe Crabbe and Goyle.

The third was pulling out all of the capital letters, or all of the spelling mistakes. The fourth was taking out all of the letters on the far left row and the fifth was the last letter of every sentence.

After the simple codes, which left Draco feeling as if his brain was growing dumb from disuse, they began on the real codes, codes in Ancient Runes.

"All of you were chosen for your aptitude in Ancient Runes," said Bill, "and now we will put that to good use. Remember the style codes we just taught you and think more complicated. I want to see how fast you catch on before boring you with an unneeded lesson."

Everyone looked gratefully at Bill because Alberich had spent at least half an hour describing the all capital letter code and then Bill waved his wand and immediately the chalk boards that were beside their desks were filled half-way with the Gaelic runes.

"Find the message," said Bill. "Sit down once you have it."

Draco looked at the board, and didn't even bother getting up. The message was based on the misplacement of the nouns, and read "Four new recruits, then to Spain."

Lorenzo was the first to sit back down, and all he did was write out the answer. Granger was next, after circling the misplacements and writing it out, and everyone else was close behind her.

"Very good," said Bill. "Let's put the next one up."

The message disappeared only to be replaced with a new one. This one was the Turkish Runes and several of the runes were drawn incorrectly with squared out forms instead of rounded ones. This one read "Attack planned on Italian Ministry" and again, Draco didn't bother getting up.

The instructors noticed that he wasn't getting up the third time. Bill knew why, shooting him a quick grin, but Alberich came over to his desk.

"Do you need assistance?" he asked, preening as he spoke.

"No," said Draco shortly.

"But you are having trouble with the Runes?"

"No."

Alberich frowned, annoyance in his countenance. "Then why aren't you writing anything?"

"I don't need to write it," said Draco.

By now their conversation had attracted the attention of the other code breakers who were all turning to look at the pair.

"You're saying that you just figured this out in your head?" asked Alberich, a disbelieving note in his voice.

"Yes," said Draco simply.

"Well," said Alberich, now sounding extremely patronizing, "aren't we precocious?"

He gave a condescending smile and for a moment Draco was afraid he was going to reach out and pat his head, so he gave man a glare that promised death. Alberich looked a little startled and moved off, his strut a little less pronounced.

Draco continued to glare, even after the man had gone, but then removed his gaze to his chalk board. He figured it out in his head again and then slumped slightly in his chair. Bill stopped by, kneeling at his desk.

"I told you you'd hate him," he said in greeting, and then he smiled wickedly. "Precocious?" he asked.

Draco glowered. "Never again," he said in warning.

Bill didn't seem to take him too seriously, his hazel eyes getting a decidedly mischievous gleam and Draco silently cursed himself for rescuing the former Professor from the Death Eaters. Any threats he might give with a result in death wouldn't be taken seriously by Bill anymore, not after he saved his life.

"Hang tight," said Bill. "We'll start up some harder codes in a minute or two to save you from boredom."

Bill moved off to see if anyone had any questions, and the next code that was put up was harder. So much harder in fact that Draco actually left his seat and had to circle a few inconsistencies before finding the pattern and writing the answer down on the board. He took his time writing the hidden message, so that when he went to go sit down, Lorenzo was already seated and Granger was just finishing up. He then remembered that Bill had said not to hold back, but it was a hard habit to break, pretending to be normal.

He did better on the next message, finishing and sitting down a full twenty seconds before anyone else. Bill gave him a wide grin.

"Very good!" applauded Alberich, once everyone had regained their seat. "We will now take a short break for some refreshments."

No sooner had he spoken, a table appeared in the middle of the room with an assortment of small sandwiches, cheese and fruit, various cookies and a large bowl full of punch. Draco merely leaned back in his chair, tipping it on two feet as he watched the other code breakers intermingle. There were three women, including Granger, and they all seemed to gravitate towards one another while the four men broke off into small parties, Lorenzo and Alberich together in one group, each sizing the other up.

Draco waited until the table was clear before getting up to ladle himself some punch in a glass. He had timed it so that each group was in deep conversation before getting up, but Granger came over anyway with fierce determination in her brown eyes.

"What are you doing here Malfoy?" she asked. She was holding a plate with a sandwich on it, and her other hand held a cup, but she stood in such a way Draco knew he wasn't going to be able to brush her off easily.

"I should think it was obvious," he drawled, taking a sip of the punch which was exceptionally fruity, but he could taste the champagne mixed in.

"It appears to be obvious," said Granger, "but I don't trust you. Why are you here in a room full of Muggleborns, Half-bloods and Pureblood traitors plotting the downfall of Voldemort?"

"Wait," he said, becoming mock-alarmed. "This meeting isn't for the initiation of new Death Eaters? I thought that the Dark Lord himself would be here."

The look in Granger's eyes was reminiscent of McGonagall and it was slightly disturbing.

"I'm serious Malfoy," she said. "Are you here for some spying mission for the Dark Lord? Is this some way of getting on his good side?"

"And what if I am?" asked Draco. "There's really nothing you can do about it."

"Don't be so sure, Malfoy," said Hermione.

"What?" asked Draco. "Going to tell your precious Order on me? I'm scared Granger, truly scared." It was said sneeringly and he could see the color rush into Hermione's cheeks as she got angry.

"A common emotion for a Death Eater to be feeling," she said. "Always cowering before Voldemort, hurrying to do his bidding so you make him happy."

"You seem to know an awful lot about it," said Draco. "Have you been to the meetings without telling me, Granger? We could have gone to coffee afterwards or something."

"So you have been to the meetings then!" said Hermione triumphantly.

Draco shrugged. "Not recently," he admitted. "I've been out of the country and just got back a few days ago."

A hand dropped on his shoulder, squeezing it warningly. Draco didn't bother attacking the person who dared touch him; he already knew it was Bill.

"Draco," said Bill warningly. "Do try to get along with the other code breakers, alright?"

"I was getting along swimmingly. She accused me of spying." Draco tried to shrug Bill's hand off, but the former-professor only tightened his fingers, not painfully so, but enough to let Draco know that Bill was not amused.

"Hermione," said Bill, now turning his attention to the girl, "what was one of the precautionary methods used on you before you were admitted into the operation?"

"Veritaserum," said Hermione.

"Now, since we know that you are not in league with the Dark Lord, and that your parents are Muggles, but we still used Veritaserum, don't you think we would have been doubly cautious with someone like Draco?"

"Yes," said Hermione, blushing a little.

"So, no more of these accusations, then. Alright?"

Hermione nodded.

"And Draco," said Bill.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Don't be such a prat," said Bill. "Besides, both of you are the Heads for Hogwarts this year and you need to get along."

Hermione gaped. "Him?" she asked incredulously. "Head Boy?"

But Bill was already leaving, so Draco took the opportunity to speak up.

"Who else did you think it would be?" he asked. "Potter? The Boy-Who-Couldn't-Even-Die?"

"Harry would be ten times better than you as Head Boy," said Hermione stoutly, but there was more to her voice than just defensiveness for a friend. There was pride as well, accompanied by a faint flush to the cheeks.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You seem to be rather touchy on the Potter subject," he commented, and watched as the blush deepened.

"It's none of your business, Malfoy," said Hermione.

"So you _are_ dating him then," said Draco, getting a wicked gleam in his eyes. "You're dating Scar-head."

"Don't call him that."

"How long have you been dating him now?" asked Draco. "Did it break Weasel's heart that you broke up with him or are you having a weird threesome relationship?"

"You are sick!" said Hermione. "And for your information, Ron is fine with me dating Harry and has a girlfriend himself."

"Why are you trying to convince me?" asked Draco. "Or are you just trying to convince yourself?"

Hermione gave a frustrated groan and walked away. Draco smirked, downed his champagne punch, and left the glass on the table, opting to return to his seat and wait for everyone to finish up.

It took another ten minutes, but everyone finally returned to their seats and the food disappeared. The codes started again, and this time they were the real thing.

It took Draco five minutes to decode the first one. He stared at the board for a good three minutes, his fingers tapping out his 1-3-2-4 pattern before he actually started to write, then once he did, he didn't stop until he had the answer and sat back down at his desk. He had finished a minute before Lorenzo and a minute and a half before Hermione.

Lorenzo muttered something about 'the cheating boy stealing my work' that everyone heard, but no one responded to, partially because Draco knew that they were all wondering the same thing. Since when did the teenaged prat son of Lucius Malfoy become a genius? As far as they knew, never, but they did know that, as the son of Lucius Malfoy, he would not be opposed to 'borrowing' someone else's work.

By the next code, everyone was too busy to be wondering if he was stealing work or not. The codes were intricate, confusing, and extremely well hidden, and the instructors started making rounds, explaining how things worked and checking over answers. As soon as one code was completed and checked, the teachers put another in its place.

Forty-minutes went by before the next, and last, break. This one was unscheduled as Dumbledore entered the room, beaming and twinkling at the lot of them.

"Headmaster," said Bill, coming over as the code breakers gratefully stopped scribbling away on the chalkboards and stretched, hiding yawns behind dust-covered fingers.

"I came to see how things were going," said Dumbledore. "You seem to be quite the task master Bill."

Bill grinned. "I think they are doing quite well," he said.

"Do you mind if I challenge them a little bit?" asked Dumbledore.

"Of course not," said Bill. "What did you have in mind?"

"I have a code here," said Dumbledore, pulling a piece of parchment out of his pocket. "It's on the difficult side, but I was wondering if they were up to the challenge."

Bill turned to the code breakers, who were all shamelessly listening to the conversation.

"Well?" he asked. "Feeling up to it?"

There were a few nods, and some 'Yes's' so Dumbledore walked over to the front board, erased it with a wave of his wand, and then with another wave, the smooth surface was covered with symbols.

"You can converse with each other if you like," said Bill. "And once we have this one figured out, we'll call it a day."

The code breakers stared at the board, some people grouping together to talk quietly. Draco merely stared at the board, the fingers in his right hand tapping out the pattern double-time. Fifteen minutes later and he was still staring at the board.

"I think I have something," said Lorenzo. Immediately all eyes, except Draco's, turned to the translator.

"Well?" asked Harriet Lester.

"Yes," said Lorenzo. "I do indeed have something." He pulled his chalk board up to the front, the wheels on the wooden stand squeaking obnoxiously, which was what made Draco finally take notice of the man.

"So, what is it?" asked Luther Ross.

"I'm not quite done yet," said Lorenzo, picking up his chalk again. "But I'm just about done translating here. I've got 'You-Know-Who to the north' so far."

"I don't know," said Hermione. "Is that right? A code wouldn't really say Voldemort's name, would it?"

"It doesn't say his name," said Lorenzo condescendingly. "It says-,"

"You're wrong," said Draco, speaking up over him.

Everyone turned to look at him.

"Excuse me?" said Lorenzo in an annoyed, who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are tone of voice.

"I said you're wrong," said Draco.

Lorenzo looked more than annoyed now. "The message reads 'You-Know-Who to the north, so far. It makes sense."

"Actually," said Draco, "if you were to continue along your lines of translation the message would read 'You-Know-Who to the north to gather eight more recruits before returning to Kansas along with Dorothy and the Munchkins'. Unless the Dark Lord has a new affinity for American novels, you've strayed off the yellow brick road."

Draco could hear Bill smother a chuckle. Lorenzo turned an unflattering shade of fuchsia.

"Well, then," he said scathingly. "Let's see if you can do any better!"

He marched down from the front of the room and thrust the piece of chalk into Draco's hand and gestured him to go forward. Draco slowly walked forward, still staring at the board.

There was no other code, as far as Draco could tell, besides the one about Kansas and Dorothy. He had read over the rest of the Runes, and had come to that conclusion. He frowned as his eyes kept straying to the out-of-place adjectives that made up the erroneous message, and then he froze. If there was no other code in the rest of the letter, than the code must be inside the fake code.

His fingers flew through the pattern as he stared at the fake message. 'You-Know-Who to the north to gather eight more recruits before returning to Kansas along with Dorothy and the Munchkins'. Think, now, there must be something there…

He flipped Lorenzo's board over onto the clean side and began to write, the sound of his chalk hitting the black board echoed through the silent room. The message had used 'You-Know-Who'. No code-maker worth his salt waste time trying to incorporate that name into a message.

The message was in the Greek dialect, which used hieroglyphics, but each glyph was an actual letter, as in 'a,b,c,' etc, except in it's own alphabet. It was also based on a number system, much like the Hebrew language, with each letter pertaining to a number, i.e. 'a 1; b 2'. The glyphs spelling out You-Know-Who then must be part of the code.

In the Greek Dialect, 'You-Know-Who' is spelled with six letters, and it actually is closer to the 'unnamed one' translation wise. If those six letters were than taken back to their number form, Draco got the numbers 2, 16, 7, 11, 30, and 21. By counting out the words in the message, he could see that the numbers all pointed to words starting with a large-print glyph, much like a capital letter in English. The only thing was, those words didn't make since together. He tried every combination possible, but he was still stumped.

He backed up a bit, surveying the glyphs he had. They were the right markings, he was sure of – Oh!

One of the distinguishing characteristics about the Greek dialect is that the larger-print glyphs look very much like the Syrian glyphs, which meant that if he looked at the hieroglyphics from the Syrian dialect and took the first letter from each word that corresponded with the glyph than he had it.

He wrote out the answer, which was a mere six letter word 'caught'.

He put the chalk down and stepped away from the board, catching the grin on Bill's face and smiling ever-so slightly. Someone started to clap, Draco didn't know who, but he could feel a faint flush rising in his cheeks and he quickly stepped back, even as the applause built.

Dumbledore applauded as well. "Quite nicely done," he said. "Most impressive."

"Indeed," said Bill. "Now, what can the rest of you learn from this? Yes, Harriet?"

"Sometimes the wrong code is the right one, just uncompleted?" she asked.

"Yes, very well put," said Bill.

"Sometimes two dialects are used?" shouted out Chadwick, a university student.

"Very good," said Bill. "Anyone else?"

"Pride cometh before the fall?" asked Luther, who didn't very much care for Lorenzo.

There were several chuckles and Lorenzo pretended not to notice.

"Yes," said Bill, also hiding a smile. "Very well then, you can all leave. Your contacts will be meeting with you sometime in the near future to discuss codes and what not. If you have any questions, speak to Albus Dumbledore who is the head of this operation."

The code breakers didn't run out, which was somewhat surprising, considering how late it was and how hard they had been working. What was even more surprising was the fact that several of them came up to congratulate Draco on figuring out Dumbledore's code, including Granger.

"Look, Malfoy," she said. "I still don't like you, but if Dumbledore trusts you than it's good enough for me. And you did good there, with the code."

She looked at him slightly belligerently, as if daring him to ruin the beginning of an unsteady truce, but Draco merely nodded, and that was it.

After she left, Dumbledore approached. "I suppose now is a good time to come through on my side of our bargain," he said, eyes twinkling. "If you come in on Monday, around noon, Severus will be here and you can speak with him. Floo into my office; I'll have it open for you."

"Thank you," said Draco, but Dumbledore didn't leave. Instead, the Headmaster looked at him a little curiously.

"I don't suppose you have a sister, do you?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, what?" asked Draco, wondering what had brought this unexpected question on.

Dumbledore paused, waiting for Harriet and Luther to make their way outside, leaving Draco, Dumbledore, Bill, and Kingsley alone in the room.

"The Sorting Hat recently sent out the letters to first years," he said. "One was addressed to Delaney L. Chalmers, an eleven year old girl."

"Never heard of her," said Draco.

"Yes, well, her last name was hyphenated," said Dumbledore. "As if her name had been changed. It said Chalmers-Malfoy. I don't suppose you have an illegitimate sister?"

Draco paled slightly, Bill halfway reaching out to him, but stopping.

"Draco?" inquired Dumbledore.

Draco shook his head. "Not a sister," he said. "I had a brother, Lukas, but he died, ten years ago."

"Are you sure he is dead?" asked Dumbledore.

Draco laughed, mirthlessly. "I saw the Avada myself, but…," he trailed off. "The address," he said. "Was it a Muggle address?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

Draco frowned. "Then I think I have a niece."

-----------------------------------------------

Albus made his way up the sidewalk of a small but pleasant looking house. He was in a Muggle neighborhood, but he was still wearing his robes, more specifically his deep purple robes with silver sparkly stars that he was quite partial to. It was one of the benefits of being so old; people looked over the oddities of age. He rang the doorbell and it was answered by a woman in her mid-thirties.

She looked at him curiously and he took the time to study her as well. She had short dark hair, not quite black, but almost there, and a face that was pretty in an approachable, pleasant kind of way. Her eyes were doe brown and inviting and her short stature made her look extremely innocent and sweet.

"Miss Chalmers?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "I'm Samantha."

"I'm Albus Dumbledore," he said, and she immediately recognized his name.

"From the letter," she said. "Hogwarts, right?"

"Yes, indeed," said Dumbledore. "May I come in?"

"Oh, yes," said Samantha. "I'm sorry, do come in. Would you like any tea?"

"That would be wonderful," said Dumbledore, entering the house and following her into the kitchen. He took a seat at the table while she put the kettle on.

"Was there something wrong in the letter?" asked Samantha, joining him and tucking a short piece of hair behind her ear. "Is Laney still invited?"

"Oh, yes, of course," said Dumbledore. "It's just that I need to know, for security purposes, who her father is."

A look of understanding crossed Samantha's face. "It's because of Luke's father, isn't it?" she asked. "Lucius, wasn't it?"

"So, Delaney is the child of Lukas Malfoy," said Dumbledore.

"Yes," said Samantha, "but he didn't have Malfoy as his last name, because he was illegitimate. When we married, he just took my last name. Rather unconventional, but his mother's family wasn't to keen on the marriage either."

"You were married?" asked Dumbledore, surprised at this bit.

Samantha looked a bit startled. "Yes," she said, raising her left hand where she was wearing an elegant ring made of thin gold strands braided together. "We were married six months before he told his mother, and then when I had Laney he went to tell his father, but he never came back and-," she cut off abruptly, taking in a breath before continuing. "He had planned ahead, for the off-chance he might not return, but I had no clue. After a week past, I got a letter in which he apologized and explained what I was to do to access his funds."

"I am sorry for your loss," said Dumbledore. "How much are you aware of the wizarding world?"

"Enough to know that Luke's parents are prejudiced against Muggles and that a few years before there was a type of war against magical people with non-magical parents," said Samantha. "But wasn't the Lord-person responsible killed?"

"He never died," said Dumbledore. "He has returned to power and things are not exactly stable in the wizarding world right now. If people knew that Lucius' illegitimate son was married to a Muggle and that they had a child, it would cause uproar among the Death Eater ranks."

"Those are the bad ones, right?" asked Samantha.

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

"And you think Laney might be in danger?"

"She could be a target," said Dumbledore. "Which is why I needed to know, so we can keep an eye on her."

"Are you going to disguise her? Put her in a protection program?"

"No," said Dumbledore, "I have no doubt that her uncle will be quite capable of protecting her from the wrong sort of attention."

"You're talking about Draco, aren't you?" asked Samantha.

"You know him?" asked Dumbledore.

"It was how Luke and I met," said Samantha. "I'm a veterinarian and I went to Paris on an exchange program twelve years ago. I was doing a presentation on chimps and Luke had brought Draco, and that's how we met. He flirted with me, rather obviously, when I was showing the monkeys around. Later that day I was having trouble getting directions back to my hotel, and Luke and Draco just happened by, and we went to dinner together. Luke and I stayed in touch and hit it off." She fell silent for a moment, before speaking again. "If Draco is Lucius' real son and if he's protecting her, won't more attention be put on Laney?"

"Most likely," said Dumbledore, becoming serious, "however, Draco has grown up around dark wizards and witches and is quite…capable for one his age. I have no doubt that he will be Laney's best choice for protection."

"If he's grown up around Lucius, won't he be prejudiced, like the rest of them?"

"I have no doubt that he is prejudice, to a point," said Dumbledore, "but he refused to join Lord Voldemort, who is the leader of the dark wizards."

"I don't know," said Samantha, her brown eyes pensive and worried. "Maybe I should just keep Laney home."

"Could you really do that?" asked Dumbledore gently.

"No," admitted Samantha. "She already knows that her father was a wizard. I couldn't take this opportunity away from her. She was born magical and she deserves to go."

"I believe that Draco deserves to see his niece as well," said Dumbledore. "He was there when Lukas was killed, and from what I understand, he and his half-brother were very close. Meeting Laney would do him good."

He remembered what Draco had looked like when he had revealed that he might have a niece.

"_Then I think I have a niece," he had said, frowning slightly._

"_Would you like to go meet her?" asked Dumbledore. "I could give you the addre-,"_

"_No," said Draco, too quickly for someone as calm as he looked, which made Dumbledore notice the slight flickering in the grey eyes. No doubt Bill could read that flicker better than he could._

"_Don't you want to know if Lukas really did have a daughter?" asked Bill softly._

"_I-," Draco began, but then he cut off, spinning about abruptly and grabbing at a decidedly Muggle looking jacket then roughly pulling it on. "I have to get back," he said, not looking at any of them._

"_Would you like me to go?" asked Bill. "I'll check it out, and if it is Lukas' daughter, I'll let you know, alright?"_

"_Actually," said Dumbledore, "I have to go meet her anyway. If there is a child from a Muggle woman that is even remotely connected to the Malfoy line, then the child may become a target."_

_Draco shrugged, finally turning around to face them. His eyes were cold once again and he merely nodded to them curtly. "Good day," he said, and left the room._

_Dumbledore turned to Bill, wondering if he could translate the actions as well as he could translate Ancient Runes. Bill was watching the door bang shut with a sympathetic expression in his eyes and then he looked at Dumbledore._

"_Lukas and Draco were close from what I understand," said Bill. "Lukas would spend the summers with Draco, until he revealed that he was intending on marrying a Muggle woman. That's when the Avada hit him, and Draco saw the whole thing. He was only seven at the time."_

"_Merlin," muttered Kingsley, speaking up for the first time._

"_Lucius killed his own son?" asked Dumbledore._

"_No," said Bill. "It was Lucius' mother, Draco's grandmother. A year later and she dies, and Draco is pretty certain that Lucius poisoned her, and then Lucius packs the entire family up and they move to England."_

"_Shit," said Kingsley succinctly. "That's a messed up family."_

Dumbledore brought himself out of his musings to see Samantha nod.

"Luke always spoke fondly of Draco," she said. "Do you know how to contact him?"

"Actually," said Dumbledore, "I was hoping you would write him." He pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill from his pocket.

Samantha took them, looking in askance at the quill.

"It has ink already in it," explained Dumbledore. "Like your pens." He didn't mention that the ink was actually spelled inside.

Samantha nodded and then hesitated slightly, before writing out a short message. She re-read it once she was done and then nodded, folding up the letter and handing it back.

"Thank you," she said.

The front door banged open and Samantha smiled. "Would you like to meet Laney?"

----------------------------------------------------------

So! In the next chapter, Draco meets Laney, gets in a fight with attacking Death Eaters, and we see our first bit of Ginny, but remember people, this is pre-D/G, so don't expect romance straight off. Please review!


	6. Delaney ChalmersMalfoy

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, hence I have taken to living the nocturnal life of the overnight shift. I am starting to feel a strange connection to raccoons.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Alright, so I didn't update Monday, but it's not my fault. I had half an hour before work, right, and so I had everything ready to go and I was just grammar checking, I even had the document uploaded and was about to add it on, when I was forced into a family game, which, normally I don't mind, but I was like 'Nooo! What will my reviewers say?' So, my apologies, and blame the parents.

**Spyrit**: I'm glad the Caddy is alright, especially seeing as it's one of my dream cars (sigh)  
**Lilith**: If I did get paid for this, I would gladly update five times a week, though I would expect reviews for each chapter from you and Spyrit, lol.  
**Conngirl89**: Not a fan of the Harry/Hermione? Sry, though thanks for saying you can overlook it. Thanks for reviewing  
**Silvera**: Dragons, huh? Hmm. To be honest, I know where the story is going, but I don't know how to get there, so I'll see if I can throw some dragons in, but no promises  
**Gremlin**: lol. Yeah, he'll protect her, thanks for the review  
**Mask**: yeeaahhh, because I made up two different languages, uh-huh. NOT!  
**Dbi626**: thanks, I'm glad you think so.  
**E-san: **He'll get over it.  
**Slickslytherin**: Lorenzo was asking for it.  
**Bena24**: As much as Lucius loves his children, he's still a bad guy, so…well, if I told you anymore it would ruin the story, thanks for reviewing  
**Astaroth**: Not figuring prominently, but she will have a role in the story, but I'm not going to go all OC crazy  
**Sw33tang3lgurl**: Yes, Ginny makes an appearance, hope you like it  
**Jill**: Well, I update on Mondays, at least I'm trying to get into the habit so you can just check then, I'm glad that you are enjoying the story. Thanks for reviewing.  
**Jewals971**: He does indeed. Thanks for the review!

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Draco hesitated for what must have been the thousandth time that morning, and then cursed himself for what must have been the millionth time. Honestly, he was just taking the girl to Diagon Alley for school supplies and what not, how hard could it be?

Yeah, well it's not everyday you meet your estranged niece from your murdered half-brother who was secretly married to a woman who was looked down upon as garbage, he thought morosely. So, maybe I'm actually doing pretty well.

He discarded that thought immediately. He was practically having conversations with himself, how stable could he be? He forced himself to walk up the drive and then step on the porch. His hand rang the bell and he waited for a tense eleven seconds before the door opened and Draco stared.

"You're the monkey lady," he said, his mind in shock. He had not expected to recognize her.

She apparently hadn't expected to be recognized either because she blinked, looking quite startled. "Yes," she said. "I didn't think you would remember. You were only, what, five?"

"Yeah," said Draco, stepping inside as she opened the screen door for him. He held up the box he was carrying when she looked at it strangely. "It's for Delaney," he said awkwardly.

"I'll go get her," said Samantha. "Come into the den."

She led him into a small room that seemed extremely cozy as it was furnished in an array of tans and burgundies. Almost like Gryffindor colors.

"I'll be right back," she promised, leaving the room and calling up for the girl.

Draco felt unsteady. His stomach was in knots and his fingers blundered through their pattern and he wondered how rude it would be if he just walked out, but then Samantha was returning with a little girl in tow. Draco's mind went blank.

The girl was small for her age, but adorable, with long, curly hair that was the same shade of almost-black as her mother's. Her face shape was like Samantha's too, round and pleasant, though she had the Malfoy pale skin with a smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks. That was not why Draco was staring. He stared because her eyes were a startling blue that Draco had only seen once before, on a man who had white-blond hair and a wide grin.

"Shit," he breathed, and then he was kneeling on the floor and the girl was running to him to fling her arms around his neck, saying 'Hello, Uncle Draco'.

She pulled back a little bit and Draco looked up to Samantha, who was smiling with understanding, obviously realizing what a shock it was to see Lukas' eyes in the girl's face.

"Are you a wizard too?" the little girl was asking, her blue eyes wide and excited.

"Uh, yes," said Draco. "I'm going to take you to wizard stores to get you stuff for school."

The child grinned, her smile an exact replica of her mother's, warm and full of happiness. Draco picked up the box he had brought and handed it to the girl.

"This is for you," he said, wondering if he was supposed to say anything else, but Delaney was already tearing the box open and pulling out a beautiful, light cloak in a stunning lavender shade.

"Is this what witches wear?" she asked, pulling the cloak around her shoulders and fumbling with the clasp. Draco reached out quite naturally, which surprised him, and fastened it for her.

"You'll be the best-dressed witch in all of Diagon Alley," he promised, because he somehow knew that one was supposed to say things like that to a niece.

She beamed, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then ran over to her mother, twirling about so that the cloak billowed out around her. Draco blinked, stopping himself from reaching up to touch the spot where she kissed him, and then stood as Samantha patted her daughter's head and then told her to go get her shoes.

They both watched as she ran up the stairs and then turned to each other.

"You look like him," said Samantha softly. "The same hair and skin. Your eyes are different though."

Draco nodded. "She has his eyes."

"I'm glad she does," said Samantha. "I was almost hoping she would have his hair, your hair, too, but if anything, I'm glad she has his eyes."

She reached out to touch his hair, and he held himself still, willing himself not to flinch as her fingers gently brushed through his white-blond locks.

"You're seventeen now?" she asked, changing the mood as she pulled back from his hair.

"Yes," said Draco. "Seventeen is adult in the wizarding world."

"So young," said Samantha, shaking her head.

"I'll take care of her," Draco promised, sensing where this conversation was headed.

Samantha nodded, but she didn't look very reassured.

"You could come too," offered Draco. "Lots of Muggles go with their kids to get school supplies. I could show you around, if you wanted?"

"No," said Samantha. "Me and the magical world combining is what got Lukas killed, so I'll just wait here. No keeping her out past her bedtime, though."

Draco's lips quirked up at that, and then Delaney came back down. She had changed to match her cloak. She was wearing dark blue jeans and a green t-shirt with small lavender flowers on it. Her sneakers were white and she was carrying a lavender hair tie, holding it out to her mother.

"Could you braid my hair?" she asked.

"Sure, sweetie," said Samantha.

Draco watched as the short woman expertly entwined the dark hair into a neat plait, even though Delaney could hardly stand still. When the hair-do was finally completed, Delaney reached back to make sure it was neat and then made sure her cloak was fastened properly.

"Do you have a cloak too?" she asked. "It's chilly outside."

Draco smirked at that, though it was more of a smile, and he pulled out his wand, transfiguring the navy sweater he was wearing back into a navy cloak. He was wearing a white button-up underneath, along with a pair of jeans so that he didn't look too strange in the Muggle neighborhood.

Delaney's eyes went wide at the display of magic.

"Will I learn to do that?" she asked.

"You'll learn a lot cooler stuff," said Draco. "Like love potions, and levitating charms, and how to Apparate."

"What's Apparate?"

"Disappearing from one place and appearing in another," said Draco.

"Can you do that?" asked Delaney.

"Yeah," said Draco.

"Can you teach me that now?"

Samantha laughed slightly. "Wait until school starts, alright?"

Delaney looked somewhat disappointed, so Draco spoke up.

"If you hold my hand, I'll Apparate us to Diagon Alley," he said.

Delaney grinned, but Samantha looked a little worried.

"Can you do that?" she asked.

"I have my Apparating license," said Draco, "and when I took the test, I got a perfect score."

"How long have you had your license for?"

"A couple of months," said Draco. "I took it when I was in New York, but I reapplied for it here. If it makes you feel better, I've been Apparating without a license for years now."

"Hearing that you've been breaking the law does not make me feel better," said Samantha.

"Well, I haven't gotten caught," said Draco, "so that must mean I'm good, right?"

She cracked a reluctant smile. "Alright," she said. "Just be careful."

"I will," Draco promised.

Samantha pulled a parchment out of her pocket. "Here's her school list. If you bring a receipt back, I'll pay you back for her school stuff."

"Actually," said Draco, "I've got quite a large amount of money in my bank account, so I was wondering if you would let me pay for her."

Samantha hesitated. "Lukas set up an account so that Laney's schooling and supplies would be paid for, if she turned out to be magical, so it's really no problem."

"But I'd like to," said Draco seriously.

She held his gaze for a moment, and then nodded. "Okay then," she said, and handed him the paper. "Laney, come here and give your mother a kiss good-bye."

Laney did. "Bye, Mum!" she said.

"Behave for your uncle," said Samantha, as Draco held out his hand.

"I will," said Laney, grasping his hand with her own small one.

"Hold tight," said Draco. "This isn't the most comfortable thing in the world."

And then they disappeared from the den with a crack and found themselves in the corner of a street in Diagon Alley. Draco immediately turned to Delaney to see if she was alright, because Apparating can be disorienting, but she was grinning widely.

"That was wicked!" she said, and then she stared, her eyes wide as she took in the bustling, crowded streets.

Draco looked as well, trying to see it all from a new person's perspective. The shops were packed full of people shopping. Witches with large bags in colorful robes with their children, wizards shouting to each other across the street, and teenagers dressed in strange combinations of magical-Muggle clothes with their friends. All the while, strange contraptions went off in store front windows, and parents magicked their children back to them, and those just of age showed off charms and jinxs.

He could feel Laney's hand tighten around his own and he squeezed it reassuringly.

"Let's go get you your wand," he said.

It was the right thing to say. A wand would mean that she belonged in this chaotic world and she nodded, still holding onto his hand as he led her to Ollivanders.

The shop was empty of costumers, something that Draco was grateful of because he didn't want Laney to be subjected to any strange looks, seeing as she was in the company of a Malfoy. That would come later, hopefully _much_ later.

"Ahhh," said Ollivander, shuffling in from the back of the store. "Mr. Malfoy. It's been quite awhile since you were in here. Took almost the entire afternoon to get you your wand. Thirteen inches, walnut, thestral hair core, flexible if the case demanded, but not easily pliable, a powerful, if not rather dark combination."

The way he said it was not condemning, and Draco remembered standing in the shop, trying wand after wand while Lucius beamed proudly down on him. Somehow his father liked the fact that he was so hard to match, because Malfoys should not be commonplace.

"And who is this?" asked Ollivander, bending down to peer at Laney, who shied a little under his gaze.

"My niece," said Draco, noting that he had a faint tone of pride in his voice at the words. "Delaney Chalmers-Malfoy."

Ollivander looked surprised, but he didn't ask any prying questions, another thing Draco was grateful for.

"Off to Hogwarts then?" Ollivander asked Laney kindly. She nodded, and Ollivander opened up a wand box lying on the counter and handed it to the girl.

"Try this," he said. "Cherry wood with dragon heartstring. Eleven inches."

Laney looked to Draco and, at his nod of encouragement, took the wand, looking at it curiously.

"Wave it about," said Ollivander. She did, but nothing happened and Ollivander immediately snatched it away. "No," he muttered, "not that at all. Let's see, here."

Dogwood, phoenix feather, twelve inches. Nothing. Elm, unicorn hair, ten inches. Nothing. Oak, griffin feather, thirteen inches. A few boxes exploded and Laney hastily dropped the wand, looking startled and quite mortified.

"Not to worry, m'dear," said Ollivander. "You should have seen what your uncle did when I handed him a phoenix feather wand. The lights exploded, the shelves toppled, and half the wand boxes went into flame." He suddenly stopped, looking thoughtful, and turned to Draco with a serious expression. "I sold that wand to Harry Potter."

Draco was surprised at that coincidence, but not shocked in anyway. He and Potter were complete opposites and it made sense that the wand didn't work for him.

"Of course," said Ollivander, "the reason I gave it to you to try was that the phoenix that gave the feather for Harry's wand, was the same phoenix that gave a feather for a wand to a boy nearly fifty years ago, Tom Riddle."

If Draco had been a more expressive person, he would have gaped. As it was, he merely blinked and his eyebrow was raised.

"Aha!" said Ollivander, pulling a wand off the top of a shelf. "Here we go. Try this one. Twelve inches, willow, with unicorn hair and has just the right amount of spring in it."

Laney took it hesitantly and waved it about. Bright blue sparks shot from the tip of the wand and Laney stared in awe at what she had just done, before turning to Draco with an amazed grin.

"I did that?" she asked with a breathless voice.

"You did indeed," said Draco, feeling his own lips twitch up at her joy. "Now, no doing magic outside of school," he said. "You're not allowed. Do you want the wand in a box, or do you want to hold it?"

"Hold it," she said immediately.

"Very well," said Ollivander, smiling down at her as well.

Draco paid him twelve galleons and two sickles, and then they exited the shop, one of Laney's hands clutching her new wand, and one clutching Draco's.

They bought her potion supplies and cauldron first, opting to use the mail delivery system so they didn't have to carry around their purchases all day. It took longer than Draco was planning because Laney stopped to gaze at everything along the way, and then asked Draco to explain it.

He had thought that he would be annoyed at her constant prattle and unending curiosity, but the frustration he was waiting for never came which surprised him. So did the funny warm feeling that came from the direction of his heart when he watched her.

He knew that he was capable of love. He would even say that he loved his father, although most of the time the love was buried under layers of confusion, anger, betrayal and frustration, and those tempered the positive feelings towards his father. He might even go as far as to say that he loved Bill like a brother, but he was still slightly wary around the ex-professor. With Laney, he was not wondering if she was trying to manipulate him, or if she had some sort of ulterior motive. She was a child, and she was innocent, and she was his responsibility. She also liked him. He could tell by the way she held his hand even as she grew braver and the way she smiled at him. It made him want to smile back. He didn't.

They finally reached Flourish and Blotts and began to buy school books. It was actually very simple, as there were individual shelves for each year at Hogwarts, and all they really needed to do was to pick up one of everything. He was just adding a Potions text to the pile in his arm when there was a scream outside. Not a happy, I'm-delighted-to-see-you-again scream, and not an oh-my-goodness-he-stole-my-wallet scream, but an ear-piercing, terrified scream.

He immediately dropped the books, pulling out his wand and pushing Laney behind him. The store front window shattered before he could see the cause of the alarm, and he could tell by the blue of the curse that it was intentional. He dropped to the ground, dragging Laney with him and covering her small body with his own as the glass flew in.

He could hear the beginning of chaos. There were frightened yelps and cries of pain from the other costumers inside the store, but outside there were shouts, sounds of smashing windows, large crashes and shrieks of fear and agony.

He scrambled to his feet, ducking low as he ran to the shattered window and looked out. He could see witches and wizards fleeing down the alley, panic written on their faces as they grabbed at loved ones and ran, looking back over their shoulder. He couldn't see what they were running from, the street was too crowded, people ran into one another in their hurry to get out of the way.

Bright flashes of curses began flying over the crowd and he could see buildings start collapsing from the direction everyone seemed to be fleeing from. The curses cleared out the streets faster than a repelling charm and Draco could see why they were running.

A pack of Death Eaters was coming from the end of the street, walking proud, masked-heads held high. There must have been twenty of them, casting the spells, dark and destructive ones. He could here the screams of the people inside the buildings that were being targeted, and it was only a matter of moments until they reached Flourish and Blotts. It was only a matter of moments before they reached himself and Laney.

He ran back to his niece, who was sitting on the ground behind a bookcase, eyes wide and scared. She was trembling. He took her by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes.

"Laney, I need you to stay right here, okay? Do not move from this spot."

"Don't go!" Her hands clutched at his cloak. "I don't want to be all alone." She was starting to cry, her face whiter than snow and her trembling only worsened. She was beginning to panic. He shook her slightly.

"Laney, I have to go. There are bad wizards out there and I have to stop them. Stay here, alright?"

"N-no. I don't want you to go, you can't go!" The last was a scream. She was beyond scared now.

"Laney!" he said sharply and she took a shaky breath, visibly trying to stop crying. "I will be right back, I promise." He could hear the Death Eaters getting closer, and risked a glance out the window and then turned back to Laney. "Stay here. I will come back for you."

She nodded once, and he squeezed her shoulders in reassurance and then ran to the window, staying low to the ground before peering out. The Death Eaters were close and he raised his wand, twirling it once before bringing it down.

The pavement in front of the approaching Death Eaters exploded in a roar of fire, cobblestones and dirt. Draco vaulted out of the window and took his position in the middle of the street, his head held high, his wand raised, and his cold, grey eyes glinting darkly in anticipation. He was the second shock that the occupants of Diagon Alley received, the first being the Death Eaters. He was the first thing that the Death Eaters saw when the smoke finally cleared, the first thing that caused them a sense of alarm.

Draco smirked.

The Death Eaters attacked first. Draco didn't bother to block their curses, or even reflect them. He Disapparated, or rather, 'flash stepped'.

'Flash stepping' is used to describe the quick repetitions of Disapparations and Apparations that an advanced dueler will use to fight his enemy. Most wizards who reach that level have a pattern they follow, sometimes Apparating in a circle or crisscrossing pattern. Those on the next level may have several patterns they use to follow less of a predictable design. The very best have no pattern, but while they are dueling, they choose their next position. Draco was one of the very best.

He appeared right in the middle of the Death Eaters, spinning slightly to hit his pre-designated target and then staying another split second to send off two more curses. He flash stepped again, this time appearing on the outskirts of the battle and disabling two more before stepping again.

Draco was a Slytherin, meaning that he liked to fight his battles undetected, usually from the safety of hiding spots; however, he knew that he would be unable to fight off twenty Death Eaters by himself. So he charged right in like a Gryffindor, hoping that his blatant display of foolish bravery would encourage the other shoppers and store keepers to help fight as well.

His gamble paid off, rather quickly too. There was the sound of several voices raised in a battle cry, and then the Death Eaters found themselves under the attack of three others. Draco got a glimpse of a brunette, a red-head, and a black haired boy. It could only be the Golden Trio.

The irony of the Golden Trio coming to his aid was not lost on Draco, however, at the moment he was too busy to do anything besides raise an eyebrow. He flash stepped again, appearing right behind the group of Death Eaters that were fighting the three friends, and took two of them out before retreating to a safer position.

After Harry Potter joined the fray, the battle was over within moments. It wasn't because Potter was a top-notch dueler; it was because the public flocked to their hero and joined in as well. Then, once the threat of the Death Eaters was for the most part subdued, the Aurors showed up, locking those who hadn't been smart enough to Apparate away in chains.

Draco surveyed the scene before allowing himself to relax marginally. The middle of the street was filled with Aurors holding Death Eaters and pulling off their masks while others tried to hold the crowd back as much as possible. A few key witnesses were being interrogated, pointing to certain Death Eaters and talking much louder than necessary. Satisfied that the threat was gone, he turned back to Flourish and Blotts.

The store front had been damaged in the fight. The wall left of the door was caved in and the door itself was off its hinges. Draco felt a moment of fear, but upon entering the store, he realized that the inside was uncompromised.

"Laney?" he called, striding over the bookcase he had left her at. "Laney?"

She wasn't there.

Draco stared at the empty area, his gut seeming to clench suddenly in worry and concern, emotions he wasn't used to feeling. He turned on his heel, his eyes scanning the shop, still feeling the clenching inside.

"Laney?" he called, his voice having a slight edge to it. "Laney, where the hell are you?"

No one answered. The shop was empty.

He left the shop, not quite running, but almost. His grey eyes flickered all about the people as he tore through the crowd. The tightness in his chest was almost painful.

"Laney! Laney, where are you?"

He spotted a burst of lavender and started towards it instantly. It was Laney, he could see it now. She was with a teenaged girl, he didn't really take note of the girl, except that she looked like one of those females he generally avoided, the kind, innocent ones. He could tell because of the clothes she was wearing, stylish but modest, and by the way she held herself. He ignored her.

He practically skidded to his knees in front of his niece, his hands grabbing her shoulders tightly.

"Are you alright?" he asked urgently, looking her over and noting the overwhelmed look in the bright blue eyes. She nodded; he nearly lost it.

"The hell were you thinking running off like that?" he demanded, feeling extremely angry, and as he was a Malfoy, being angry meant that his voice went cold, and his eyes even colder. "I had no clue where you went. What if I couldn't find you again? What then, huh?"

He gave her a little shake, and then realized that she was crying and that her eyes were no longer overwhelmed but terrified. Sweet Merlin, she was scared of him.

"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "Merlin, I'm sorry Laney. You just scared me."

His hand reached up to brush her tears away and then she was flinging her arms around his neck as she sobbed. He awkwardly rubbed her back.

"The bad man broke the shop," said Laney into his shoulder. Her head was buried in his cloak and her voice was a half sob. "And he grabbed me but Nevra helped me get away."

Draco knew that 'Nevra' must be the girl Laney was with, but he wasn't paying attention to that part of the story. He pulled Laney away and looked into her eyes.

"Which man grabbed you?" he asked.

She pointed and Draco turned to see a Death Eater by the name of Winton in the grip of an Auror. He was spitting curses and oaths and he looked sinisterly triumphant. A thought flashed through Draco's mind: the Death Eater screaming at his feet and then himself casting the last curse that would ever strike the man. He was familiar with the feeling. The knowledge that he could get away with murder if he so desired was pure seduction and he turned back to Laney.

"Stay here," he said, not really paying attention to how she seemed to panic slightly at the words. He was only aware of Winton, Death Eater, the man who had tried to harm his niece.

Winton saw him coming, his face set and his grey eyes frigid. Winton was not a smart man and so he sneered and spat in Draco's direction. Draco smirked, his eyes promising death.

Winton managed to twist away from the Auror, but Draco was there then. He grasped the older, heavier man by the arm as he passed by him, turning with the man and kicking the back of his knees. Winton collapsed, face first, but Draco still held onto his arm and there was a sickening _pop_! as Winton's shoulder dislocated. Winton screamed, tried to move away. Draco, still holding Winton's arm up behind his back, stepped right where Winton's arm joined his back. Winton garbled intelligibly.

The Aurors didn't know what to do. Draco could see them out of the corner of his eye and so he took the opportunity to step a little harder on Winton's dislocated shoulder and leaned down to the Death Eater's ear.

"Never again will you harm her."

From the look in Winton's eye, he knew who Draco was talking about. He tried to answer back, but Draco jerked his arm. Winton gave a short cry of pain.

"_Never_ again, or I swear by the time I am through with you, you will wish that you had never been conceived."

Draco stepped back, letting go of the man's arm and the Aurors took custody of their prisoner once again. Draco turned back to go to Laney, but hesitated slightly. Laney was being comforted by none other than Ginny Weasley. Gi_nevra_ Weasley. The Weaselette was accompanied by one of her older brother's, the dragon keeper one, Charlie, and he looked quite surprised.

Draco recovered from the shock in a split second and knelt once more by Laney who now looked more scared of him than ever. Real smart Draco, he thought to himself sarcastically, after she's been traumatized, go all torturer on the Death Eater. He pointedly ignored the Weasley siblings.

"I'm sorry," he found himself saying again. Dear Merlin, who knew this whole uncle stuff could be so hard?

"I want to go home," said Laney, sniffling slightly, looking for the entire world that she might start bawling at any moment. "I want Mum."

"Alright," said Draco placatingly. "I'll take you to Mum." He held out his arms and she left Ginny's embrace and hesitantly made her way over to him. Draco scooped her up and then stood. "Do you want to Apparate back?" he asked.

She shook her head; it figured. She probably had enough of the Wizarding World; however, Draco knew that leaving now might mean that she would quit it forever. He wasn't going to let that happen. She was a Malfoy; she belonged here.

"I'll take you to the Leaky Cauldron," he said. "We can take a cab home to your Mum."

He nodded once at Charlie and Ginny, after all, Ginny had helped his niece, and then left. He was sure to get away from the Death Eaters as quickly as possible, and then slowed his steps, before gently setting her down. She was heavy, or maybe he just needed to eat more.

It was not by coincidence that he set her down right by the pet store, so that when she got to her feet the first thing she saw was a window full of animals. He was banking on the fact that her mother's interest in animals would have either been genetically handed down or at least rubbed off on her. He bet correctly.

Laney took one look at the animals, and then another, and another.

"Do you want to go in?" asked Draco gently.

She hesitated, the remains of her tears still on her face.

"A quick look," said Draco, manipulating her and not feeling the slightest bit of guilt for doing so. He took her hand and led her in. It was the right move to make. She looked as if she was in heaven, gazing about at the animals with wide, enchanted eyes.

They spent two hours in the store. Draco, again, was surprised that he felt no frustration at the obscene amount of time spent in the presence of smelly animals. When they finally left the store, Laney held in her hands a pure white kitten. Everything a kitten could need, from a carrying basket to a knit sweater, was being shipped to the Chalmer-Malfoy house.

Draco then mentioned the fact that her new kitten might be hungry. Did Laney want to find the kitten something to eat, and maybe get a bite herself? The answer was a resounding 'yes' and so they had lunch. Draco then asked if Laney wouldn't mind going shopping real quick with Uncle Draco who needed to get a few things for school. Laney had said 'yes', because he had bought her a kitten, and they had then ended up finishing shopping for Laney as well.

They ended the day with ice cream and Laney was all smiles again, the incident with the Death Eaters completely forgotten as she fed her new kitten some ice cream. Draco felt his lips twitch up as he watched her.

-------------------------------------------

Ginny had been relieved when the Death Eater attack came.

Alright, so that was phrasing it a little callously, but it was the truth. She had been spending a day shopping with Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Charlie (who was on vacation from his dragons), and between Ron and Charlie, she was getting no rest from the fact that she had gone on dates with at least six different guys last school year. The 'at least' was because she had gone on friendly luncheons that may have been taken as a date by the male she was accompanying, although she only counted six as real dates.

It wasn't that she was loose, or flirty, it was just that she had a lot of friends who were guys. After all, she had grown up with six brothers and so she related well with the male species and because she hung out with mostly guys, they often, at some point in time, wanted to try a serious relationship. Personally, she did as well, if only so that people would stop talking about her crush on Harry Potter. _Honestly_!

So, when the Death Eater attack did come, she didn't panic and was somewhat relieved that her topic of boyfriends was changed. For as much as Hermione was a nice person, the seventh year girl wasn't helping her at all.

They were upstairs in Flourish and Blotts when the store was hit. Everyone ran to the window to see the Death Eaters strutting down the street like the owned the place. No one was trying to stop them, or even taking action and summoning the Aurors. They were like scurrying ants.

Harry had immediately turned to Hermione and Ron.

"Are you guys ready?" he had asked.

"I'm with you, mate," said Ron, and Hermione nodded as well. The three pulled out their wands, glancing outside to take in the position of the Death Eaters, and that's when they all saw the road in front of the Death Eaters explode, and the white-blond striding out in the middle of the street to face them, head held high and wand out.

"Malfoy?" breathed Ron in shock, and then the battle began.

"Come on," said Harry, starting for the stairs. "At least he's got the right idea."

Ginny noted that he seemed rather accepting of the fact that Draco Malfoy, son of infamous Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, Slytherin prat, and Ice Prince was currently battling the Death Eaters. On second look, Hermione appeared similarly unaffected. She frowned.

"Ginny," said Charlie, heading for the stairs as well. "Stay here, and don't get into trouble."

She opened her mouth to protest, but then shut it again. Objecting to being treated like a child wasn't going to get her anything, except in trouble with mum once she got home. She waited until Charlie was gone before turning back to the window, finding the latch, and sliding it open. She was in a perfect sniper's position, and took out one Death Eater with a 'stupefy', and distracted another when her 'expelliarmus' missed her intended target by an inch. She was about to pick another one off when the store was hit with another blasting hex and she felt the wall underneath her give out. It was time to find a better hiding place.

She took the stairs at a run, pulling up short when she saw a Death Eater grabbing at a small girl with startling blue eyes. The girl was screaming for her mother, and Ginny cast a Bat-Boogey hex. It had always been her best hex, and she had to say that this one outdid them all, even counting the one she put on Malfoy in her fourth year.

While the Death Eater was rolling on the ground she grabbed the girl by the arm and hustled her away. Outside the Aurors had arrived and the attack was ended as soon as it began. Ginny led the girl a bit away from the shop, snagging a passing Auror to tell him that there was a Death Eater inside. She then turned to the child, who was crying silently.

"Hey there," she said gently, "Are you alright?"

The girl nodded, sniffing slightly.

"What's your name?"

"Laney."

"Hi, Laney. I'm Ginevra. Is your mum here?"

Laney shook her head. "Mum doesn't do magic."

"How about your dad?"

"He's dead," said Laney softly.

"Who are you here with then?"

"My uncle. He told me to stay in the store when he went to stop the bad men."

"I'll help you find him then. What does he look like?"

"He looks like my dad did with white hair, but he has silver eyes."

Ginny was just about to look for an older gentleman when Charlie came up.

"Ginny, you alright? Who's this?"

"This is Laney. We're looking for her uncle."

Just then the Auror brought out the Death Eater that Ginny had hexed. Charlie took one look at the man as the Auror took off the curse, and then turned to Ginny.

"I thought I told you to stay out of trouble." He obviously recognized the Bat-Boogey. It wasn't anyone who could cast that hex with her kind of intensity.

"I did," said Ginny. "He was grabbing at Laney here. What was I supposed to do?"

"You're going to get a letter from the Ministry," said Charlie. "You're not supposed to do magic and besides, what if you had gotten hurt? What would I tell mum?"

Ginny rolled her eyes, and was about to respond when she heard someone calling Laney's name. She looked up to see none other than Draco Malfoy striding over, his face set. She watched in stunned silence as he knelt by the girl, taking her rather roughly by the shoulders and berating her for running off. Laney was crying again, and Draco withdrew slightly.

Ginny was about to step in, to tell him to shove off for scaring Laney like that, but then Laney explained in a trembling voice what had happened, and the grey eyes turned ice cold. So cold that beside her Charlie stiffened and she felt a slight thrill of fear.

Draco turned, his eyes resting on the Death Eater, and the two Weasleys watched in shock as the Slytherin approached the Death Eater. Somehow, the man managed to escape, breaking away from the Auror, but Draco was there. Ginny didn't know how he managed it, but he seemed to grab his arm, twist it behind him, and then kick out the man's knees. The Death Eater fell, but Draco didn't release his arm and there was a sickening crack as the shoulder dislocated. The look on Malfoy's face was deadly and even the Auror did want to interfere.

Laney started crying again; it was no wonder. The girl had just been accosted by Death Eaters, and now her uncle was playing torturer as he stepped on the man's injured shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was, it made the Death Eater pale.

Ginny knelt by Laney, gently rubbing her back and turning her slightly away from the scene. When Draco returned, he looked slightly uneasy at the sight of Laney's tears. Ginny gave him her best glare, but he didn't notice. He gathered the girl up and left, nodding once at Ginny and Charlie before moving off.

"Malfoy has a niece?" Charlie asked, staring after the boy.

It was more than that. Draco Malfoy had a half-blood niece because Laney had said that her mother didn't do magic. She had also said that her dad was dead, but that he had looked a lot like Draco. That meant the Slytherin once had an older brother.

She frowned, her thoughts still occupied on the blond even when the Golden Trio returned wearing triumphant smiles. Ron had a bandage on his arm, but other than that, they were unharmed.

"It was totally wicked," Ron was exclaiming to Charlie. "The Death Eaters practically ran from Harry, like they were afraid of him or something."

Ginny didn't really listen, half-heartedly finishing her shopping.

She didn't expect to see Laney again, Malfoy had said that he would take her home, but later in the day she spotted the white-blond and the little girl sitting outside the ice cream parlor. The others were occupied with a window display and so she quickly excused herself and walked across the street.

Draco noticed her coming, his brow furrowing slightly, but his expression remained guarded, closed. Laney noticed her coming and broke into a large smile, waving excitedly. She obviously recovered quickly, and then Ginny saw why. There was a tiny, pure white kitten in her lap, licking at her dish of ice cream, smothered in strawberries, sprinkles and whipped cream.

"Hey Laney," said Ginny, sitting in the chair next to the girl. "Is that your cat?"

Laney nodded enthusiastically. "Uncle Draco bought him for me."

"What's his name?"

"Merlin," said Laney. It was apparent that this was a new development because Draco, who had just taken a bite of his own ice cream, choked slightly. Ginny laughed.

"It's a good name for a pet," she said approvingly. Laney glowed with pleasure. "Did you get all of your school shopping done?" Ginny continued, ignoring Draco's dark look that clearly told her to leave.

"Yup," said Laney. "We got all of Uncle Draco's stuff too. He's Head Boy."

Draco Malfoy, Head Boy. It surprised her, because the Slytherin wasn't exactly the model of good behavior, but then again, she never expected to see him fighting Death Eaters either.

"Congratulations," she said, finally meeting Draco's cold gaze. She smiled a bit, just because it threw him off.

"Don't you have friends to go bother?" he asked, speaking for the first time and his voice practically dripped with disdain and annoyance.

"She's my friend," said Laney. "You're not being nice."

Merlin bless little children and their lack of inhibitions. Ginny had to cover her mouth to hide her smile, and Draco looked surprised, or rather, his eyebrows rose fractionally.

Ginny composed herself, bringing her hand down from her mouth as soon as she could keep a straight face. Malfoy seemed to read the laughter in her eyes because he frowned.

"Actually, I do have to go," said Ginny, twisting back to see that her friends were almost done with the display and she did not want to see their reactions when they found her conversing with the Prince of Slytherin. Actually, seeing as Hermione and Harry didn't seem surprised to see Malfoy fighting Death Eaters probably meant that they wouldn't mind so much, but Ron would pitch a fit.

"It was nice meeting you Laney," said Ginny, smiling at the girl. "I'll see you on the train to Hogwarts then."

She gave the girl a hug, partially because she thought Laney was incredibly sweet, and partially because she knew it would annoy Draco.

"Bye, Nevra," said Laney, who couldn't pronounce her name at all, but she didn't really mind.

"Good-bye," said Ginny, and then she left, reaching her friends just as they turned around.

"D'you wanna go check out the new brooms?" asked Harry to her, grabbing Hermione's hand.

Ginny glanced at Hermione, saw that the seventh year was shaking her head in a silent 'no', and then Ginny remembered her brothers grilling her on her boyfriends and Hermione's silence. She smiled wickedly.

"I would love to," she said.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

So, I've finally run out of chapters written ahead of time, so in the next chapter you may see: Draco revealing to Bill that he feels a little off about the whole 'uncle' thing, Draco and Severus meeting to discuss Death Eater things, and Snape's memory of how the faculty reacted to the news that Draco is HeadBoy. OR, it could beSybil Trelawney getting a prediction right, Voldemort doing the electric slide, and a terrible death caused by stampeding owls.

Or it could be both, you never know (lol). Please review!


	7. Persian Runes and Potions Masters

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own a back ache for sitting against a wall for so long looking over this.

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It was Sunday night. Draco was in his living room with Bill, finishing the translations of the fifth Persian Rune.

"I think it's an account of some sort," said Draco, looking over a page he had just translated. "It's describing some war between the Persians and some other wizards, but I can't translate the name."

"I've got a bit about the deaths recorded. 'This the records of fallen'. We're going to have to tighten up on the grammar a little bit."

Draco skimmed over the part he was working on and nodded. "It does seem to be lacking some structure, but maybe the language is just crude like that. I mean, they did make an entire language up. They may have just foregone some of the syntax."

"I don't know," disagreed Bill. "Sometimes the oddest markings are used to denote possession or formal address. We may just be overlooking it."

"Or we may be looking for nothing," said Draco. "Runes aren't known for their elegant sentence structure. Look at the Viking Runes. The verbs are in the front of the sentence followed by the adjectives for the direct object of all things."

"Yes, but the wizard Vikings seem to prove the statement, 'all brawn, no brains'," said Bill. "Seems to me you prove it too, just in the opposite way."

Draco glanced over and frowned at Bill, who had his eyebrows raised.

"You're deliberately baiting me," he said. "Why?"

Bill shrugged. "You seem somewhat subdued," he said.

"Do I," said Draco, not really making it a question.

"Yeah," said Bill. "Anything wrong?"

"No."

"Heard your niece is a sweet girl," said Bill.

Draco looked up at that, frowning slightly. "From who?" he asked.

"Ginny," said Bill. "She said you went all torturer on a Death Eater in front of the girl."

Draco shrugged. "I made a point."

"Obviously a rather harsh one."

"It had to be done." Draco went back to his parchments.

Bill was silent a moment before speaking. "If something is wrong, you can tell me," he said.

"Nothing's wrong," said Draco.

"Alright," said Bill, in a tone that said he was unconvinced but would let it go for now.

There was silence for a bit as they went back to work before Bill spoke again.

"It's just that you haven't done anything Draco-ish," he said.

"I see," said Draco, not really commenting and hoping Bill would just drop the subject. He should have said something because Bill straightened up and pointed a finger at him.

"There," he said. "Right there is what I am talking about. I say 'Draco-ish' and you're supposed to say something cutting about how I'm using your name as an adjective when it's a pronoun and shouldn't I know better because I'm a translator?"

Draco shrugged, knowing that Bill was right, that he had been feeling somewhat… anxious as of late, but he dealt with it the way he dealt with any emotional stress: he ignored it and kept himself busy.

"So me, not being a prat, means that something is wrong," he said.

"Yes!" said Bill. "That's it exactly."

"What if I'm just in a good mood and don't feel like responding with my usual retorts?" he asked, arguing only because admitting anxiety to Bill would mean that he would have to admit it to himself as well.

"When you are in a good mood you're even worse."

Draco didn't respond; it was hard to argue with the truth. He hoped Bill would get the hint that he didn't feel like talking right then.

"You know," said the red-haired man. "Sometimes it helps to talk about things."

"And sometimes you just need to mind your own business," said Draco, his voice going cold with annoyance. He hid a wince. It had come out harsher than he had intended.

There was silence, one of those awkward silences, like when the host and hostess of a dinner party get into a rather public fight. Draco felt a slight clawing of guilt and he glanced at Bill. The ex-Professor was looking down at his papers, and Draco couldn't read his expression. Should he apologize?

The silence dragged on, prompting him to speak.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

There was no answer.

Draco risked another look; there was no change.

"There's been…a lot on my mind," he said lamely. "So, sorry."

He glanced up once more to see that Bill was actually smiling at him. He had been faking the entire time.

"Bastard," he muttered, grabbing at his papers in an attempt to avoid more questions, but Bill snatched them out of his hands.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," said Draco.

"I won't stop asking questions until you do," said Bill.

Draco clenched his jaw. What fate did he offend to get such a nosey, stubborn friend?

"It's Laney," he said, practically having to force the words out. "I don't do emotional nonsense."

Bill seemed to understand his cryptic statements. "You're afraid that you're not exactly uncle-type material."

Draco gave a short nod and Bill looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I suppose it's a little weird, suddenly having family when you didn't expect it."

"To say the least."

"I take it that Laney is vastly different then the rest of your family as well. I mean, for one thing she probably isn't emotionally damaged. No offense or anything."

"I'm emotionally damaged?" asked Draco, raising an eyebrow. He wasn't offended, more amused than anything really.

Bill opened his mouth but then shut it again. Draco smirked slightly.

"If I'm emotionally damaged, I won't have any feelings you'll hurt if you say 'yes'," he said.

"Damaged is the wrong word," said Bill. "More like…," he trailed off, obviously not wanting to say something to offend him.

"Emotionally unavailable," supplied Draco. "To an extreme."

Bill shot him a quizzical look and Draco shrugged.

"I psychoanalyzed myself."

"You psychoanalyzed yourself," Bill repeated.

Draco shrugged slightly. "The diagnosis isn't that accurate because I did analyze myself and I no doubt disregarded things that I didn't feel were important or things that I didn't want to admit to myself, but yes. I'm emotionally unavailable, so how am I supposed to cope with being an Uncle?"

"Isn't admitting you have a problem the first step to recovery?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious," said Bill. "You know that you have a tendency to be emotionally distant, so just try to make an effort when dealing with Laney."

"How am I supposed to act around her though?"

"You're thinking too hard about it. Just act naturally."

"You're missing the point, Bill. The point is that when I act naturally, I'm a prat."

"Being an older brother, or an uncle, tends to bring out the best in people. You start realizing that they look up to you and follow your lead, and so you change your behavior accordingly."

"So it's just trial and error," said Draco.

"Mostly," agreed Bill.

Draco gave him an unconvinced look to which Bill grinned.

"You're a genius, Draco. You'll do fine."

He went back to his Runes, which obviously signaled the end of the conversation. Draco glowered slightly, because talking with Bill really hadn't made him feel better, and turned back to his own paper as well, reading over what he had translated. Some would find it strange that he had to re-read what he had already written down, but when he wrote it, he was more concerned about the translation and so the content of the message never really registered.

The passage went on to describe the war, and there was some interesting information on a ritual the wizards used that caused temporary darkness.

"Hey, Bill, listen to this," he said suddenly, spotting something of extreme interest. "The potion…well, I think this word means something like altered, or changed, but I can't quite tell in the context, but anyway, it says 'the potion – altered, or whatever – the drink responsible for the loosened lips'."

"Loosened tips?" asked Bill. "Doesn't that usually refer to alcohol? So what is that? A hangover potion?"

"No," said Draco shaking his head. "A loose tongue is used to describe the effects of alcohol. Loosened lips is something different. Here, it goes on. 'The compulsion was ended, choice regained. If spoken, the truth was spoken, but silence was…' I think that word means allowed."

"So, what are you saying?" asked Bill.

"I think it refers to Veritaserum," said Draco. "The drink responsible for the loosened lips."

"And this potion counters the Veritaserum?" asked Bill.

"No. It alters it. I think it's saying that this potion allows someone not to answer."

Bill looked confused so Draco explained.

"The main effect of Veritaserum is truth telling, however, there's another part, compulsion."

"Compulsion?" asked Bill.

"Yeah. Look, when you give someone Veritaserum and ask them a question, what do they do?"

"Tell the truth," said Bill.

"Yes," said Draco, "but they do something else too that you're missing. Look, ask me a question. Any question."

"Alright," said Bill. "What's your favorite color?"

Draco didn't answer. After a moment he raised his eyebrow.

"You see?" he asked.

"You didn't answer," said Bill.

"Exactly," said Draco. "See, the first thing Veritaserum does is make the person talk. The second thing is it makes the person speak the truth. I think that this passage refers to a counter to Veritaserum that effects the compulsion part of the serum. Basically, it allows the person to keep their mouth shut, to choose if they want to answer or not."

"This could be big," said Bill. "If you're right about it, that is."

Draco smirked. "When am I wrong?" he asked. He ignored Bill's snort. "There's a list of potion ingredients further down. I haven't translated them yet because names are always a pain to translate, even the names of plants. This might take me awhile."

"How long is awhile?" asked Bill.

"Well, I've got nothing to do all week except pack up for school, and that won't take me long, so I'll know how long by then."

"Last year of school," said Bill. "Are you excited?"

Draco snorted, twirling his quill around his fingers. "Thrilled," he said, his voice so dry that a giant could pick up on the sarcasm.

"Oh, come on," said Bill. "You're Head Boy."

"Against my wishes."

"It won't be that bad."

"I told the Dark Lord to sod off and got disowned. Of course, the Slytherins will know that, and will be looking for ways to off me, but meanwhile all news of my disownment will be kept quiet until the actually official date. So, all of the teachers and students will still think I'm a Death Eater in training except those who have it in for me. On top of that, I've got a bloody niece that I have to look out for."

"You could just join the Order," said Bill. "I know you don't want to, but we would be able to help you with the other students and what not."

Draco shook his head; he wasn't ready for the Order just yet.

"Take it one day at a time," said Bill. "And Dumbledore will be looking out for you as well, if only to make sure that you don't cheat at anymore Quidditch games."

Draco felt his lips quirk up slightly, so he changed it into a smirk. "I don't know. He hasn't noticed the past three times. I don't think this year will be any different."

Bill laughed, and turned back to his papers.

"You know," he said. "You don't have to teach me this to use as a code for the Ministry. We could use another code if you wanted to publish this. I mean, this is the greatest translational job of the decade. You could write books and what not."

"It's been untranslated for centuries now," Draco responded. "Another few months isn't going to hurt. Besides, you'll be coming back in December."

Bill frowned. "How did you know that?" he asked.

"Fleur's part Veela," said Draco. "That means her gestation period is shorter than most females lasting from five to six months as opposed to the normal nine. There's no way you would miss the birth of your child, so I figured you would come back."

"You are probably the only seventeen year old boy that would know that," said Bill, shaking his head.

"I was probably the only seven year old that knew that," said Draco.

"Seven?" asked Bill, raising his eyebrows.

"That whole walking in on my mother and 'Cousin Richard' prompted a rather large research session on the reproductive systems," said Draco, shrugging slightly.

"So, you never got The Talk?" asked Bill.

Draco was silent a moment, but then went ahead. "Pansy visited over the summer when I was fifteen," he said. "Lucius walked in on us when we were becoming rather involved in our romantic activities."

Bill went red for him, and Draco laughed lightly. "It was nothing really bad," he said. "I had my shirt off and Pansy was lying on the couch, but the way my father stared, you would have thought we were actually doing it. Anyway, after she left, he sat me down in his study all serious and he tries to tell me about sex and what not, but he couldn't get the words out. It was the closest I have ever seen him come to stuttering. I let him struggle for a while, before finally owning up that I already knew everything."

"What happened then?" asked Bill, genuinely interested in the story. Draco knew that it was partially because Bill cared about him, but partly because the idea of Lucius as a father was new to him.

"He asked me if I knew because someone told me or if I had first hand experience. I told him both."

"I bet he just loved that," said Bill.

"He seemed," Draco hesitated, "disappointed. As if he finally realized that I had grown up and he had missed it, but the next day, he was gone again on another trip."

Draco realized that he had gone nostalgic and shook it off. "Anyway," he said, ignoring Bill's searching gaze. "Let's get back to work."

There was silence for a few more minutes and then Bill spoke up.

"So, what is your favorite color?"

------------------------------------------------------------

Severus Snape made his way through the empty halls of Hogwarts. He liked the halls like this, without the frantic children running to classes or hexing each other on the way to lunch. Summer was his time, staying at the castle and brewing in the dungeons without interruption. Well, without as many interruptions. With Albus as Headmaster, Severus was pulled out of the labs at least once a week to dine with the various members of the faculty who had returned to set up their rooms or to drop off a few school supplies.

Now, there was this. Draco Malfoy. Albus had told him that, in exchange for Draco getting Harry out of his relative's house, he was supposed to answer the boy's questions about the Dark Lord's dealings.

Severus was not impressed that the boy had asked for information in exchange for his actions. The boy was Slytherin to the core, and he had expected Draco Malfoy to do something of the sort, after all, the boy was going up against the most powerful dark wizard, and he would need all the help he could get. Or rather, all of the help he would deign to receive, because the boy was also a Malfoy.

Severus approached the gargoyle guarding the entrance of the Headmaster's office and before he had even opened his mouth, the door opened, which only seemed to confirm the rumor that the Headmaster was partly omnipotent.

His lips curled upwards ever-so-slightly when he remembered what Draco Malfoy had said when confronted with that rumor.

"_I'm serious," said Eugene Rasport, his dark eyes glittering. "He knows everything that is going on in the school, so watch out for him. He favors the mudbloods."_

_The fifth year Prefect led the first years down to the dungeon common room where Severus waited to welcome the new students._

"_How can he know everything that's going on in the school?" asked Theodore Nott, scowling unpleasantly._

_Eugene shrugged slightly and turned to Nott, the shadows caused by the torches flickering across his face and making his smile look positively predatory._

"_He just does," he said, his voice a rasping whisper. "He's partially omniscient, so watch yourselves."_

_It was his intent to frighten the first years, and he succeeded until a young, cold voice spoke up._

"_That's just ridiculous."_

_Severus raised his eyebrow as a small child with hair as pale as his white skin stepped forward, his grey eyes latching onto Eugene's face while a sneer hovered at his colorless lips. So, this was Lucius Malfoy's child. He had seen the boy at the feast, of course, and had seen how quickly the boy had been placed in Slytherin. He suppressed a smile as he watched Eugene gaped at the child before finding his voice._

"_And what do you know about it, firstie?" he challenged._

_Draco Malfoy shrugged thin shoulders. "Well, he can't be _partially_ omniscient. That's a paradoxical statement." The lips smirked slightly then, and the grey eyes swept to Severus._

_Severus inclined his head. "Five points to Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, for correctly spotting the flaw."_

And such had begun his era of giving points to the boy for anything he did, and everyone merely assumed that Severus liked the boy. Of course, this year he wouldn't be able to give the boy a thing. No doubt the Dark Lord would hear of it if he did, and Severus still had a reputation to maintain.

Albus was doing the right thing, giving Draco the Head Boy position. This way he could at least retaliate against his aggressors without breaking school rules. The rest of the faculty was not as thrilled as Severus was. He ascended the stairs to the Headmaster's office, remembering the meeting that had taken place.

_The conference room was full. Snape hunched in his seat, grimacing as he listened to all of the inane conversations around him and hoping that Albus would get there soon else he might just walk out. He was in the process of experimenting with a cure for Lycanthropy and he believed he was on to something._

"_Ahh, my apologies," said the Headmaster, sweeping into the room wearing a robe of a particularly cheerful shade of blue. Of course, the suns and clouds sewn onto the surface may have been responsible for the happy look. _

_And speaking of happy, Dumbledore's eyes were not just twinkling today, they were practically shining. Severus wondered what had happened and then decided that he probably didn't want to know._

_Severus waited as Dumbledore sat at the head of the table and then twinkled obnoxiously at all of them._

"_Some sad news," he said. "Bertha Hedwick will not be attending Hogwarts this year."_

_The faculty breathed a collective sigh of relief._

"_Thank Merlin," muttered McGonagall._

"_She would have been worse than Longbottom," said Sinistra. "How did her uncle pass away? Wasn't it drowning in a rainstorm?"_

"_No, that was her great aunt," said Sprout. "He was killed by stampeding owls."_

"_That's right," said Flitwick. "I never did understand how that happened."_

"_We aren't supposed to," said McGonagall. "It's called bad luck for a reason."_

"_Ah, yes," said Sybil in a misty voice with wide eyes. "We all must remember not to offend the Fates-,"_

"_Or break powerful magical mirrors," said McGonagall, interrupting her with undisguised disdain. "After all, that is what caused this whole thing to begin in the first place."_

"_Seven generations of bad luck," said Sprout. "Horrid."_

"_But not as bad as what I saw in my crystal ball this morning," said Trelawny in a hushed whisper, glaring at McGonagall. "You will receive unwelcome information in your near future, Minerva."_

"_Ahem," said Dumbledore, halting what might have been a full out cat fight. "On a happier note, Remus Lupin has once again agreed to be our Defense teacher."_

_All of the teacher's brightened up considerably. Severus scowled, once again being denied the DADA position._

"_I suppose this means I must make the mutt his potion again, Albus?" he asked, shooting a dark look at the Headmaster. "On top of everything else?"_

_Dumbledore looked suitably regretful, and Minerva sent him a sympathetic look, which mollified him somewhat._

"_I am sorry to add more to your plate, Severus," said Dumbledore. "But I have no doubt that several seventh year students would be willing to help you with the Wolfsbane and will only require the slightest of supervisions."_

"_Very well," said Severus, still irritated and not bothering to hide it._

"_And speaking of seventh years," said Dumbledore, twinkling wildly. "That brings me to the next order of business: our Head Students. Head Girl will go to Hermione Granger."_

_No one looked surprised, but they did look pleased. She would no doubt be the best Head Girl Hogwarts had ever seen._

"_And, after much deliberation, Head Boy will go to Draco Malfoy."_

_Silence._

_Dead silence._

"_What?"_

_That was Minerva, her face turning an alarming shade of fuchsia. Severus looked at Dumbledore who looked as if he had been dreading this conversation. _

"_Now, Minerva," he began, trying desperately to sooth the Gryffindor. McGonagall was not to be calmed._

"_Don't you 'now, Minerva' me, Albus," she said. "What, in Merlin's name, possessed you to pick Draco Malfoy as Head Boy?"_

_By the way her lips were pursed together and by the unyielding look in her eye, Severus knew that Dumbledore was in for an earful if he didn't have a good reason._

"_I believe that Draco Malfoy would greatly benefit from a little bit of trust from the faculty-," he started, but Minerva once again interrupted._

"_Albus, you cannot save everyone. If given position as Head Boy, Malfoy will be unmanageable. Need I remind you of the countless fights the boy has either instigated or participated in? Or the way he continually bullies the younger students? Or how he goes into periods of tempers where he destroys classrooms?"_

_Sprout and Flitwick were nodding as well, looking more mutinous than Severus had ever seen. Trelawny looked quite indignant as well, and only Professor Vector looked somewhat undisturbed._

"_I realize that he doesn't have the best track record," tried Dumbledore. He was once again silenced._

"_His father is a Death Eater, and it is safe to assume that Mr. Malfoy will follow in his father's footsteps, if he hasn't already. That is the last thing that this school needs."_

"_The school needs to be unified," said Dumbledore, his eyes losing somewhat of their sparkle and gaining a harder look. Severus doubted any of the other teachers noticed, but he knew that the Headmaster wasn't going to take any more complaints much longer. "Now, because I realize that you have some legitimate causes for worry, I will be keeping a close eye on the boy. If he proves that he is not up to the task, I will remove him, but until then, as Headmaster of this school, he is my choice. You will find I am rarely wrong on my selection of Head students."_

_McGonagall was not going to let it go without a fight. "Albus, you cannot save every student that comes to this school. They make their own choices as well, and sometimes they are just too far gone."_

_Severus spoke up for the first time, deciding that while it was fun to see Minerva so upset, he really did want the meeting to end sometime today, even if he had to play the pity card._

"_Too far gone, Minerva?" he asked quietly. "How far gone is not worth it anymore?"_

_He looked up, the unspoken question in his black eyes. 'Was I too far gone to be not worth the effort?' McGonagall's face softened. The Gryffindors, for all of their bravery, were far too easily swayed by sympathy. Sprout and Flitwick looked enraged that their hardened leader against the case of Draco Malfoy was gone, but they were too spineless to say anything themselves._

_Dumbledore broke the silence._

"_Well, now that we have that settled…,"_

_Severus inwardly sighed. Would this never end? As he braced himself for more inane chatter, he realized that Sybil Trelawny had indeed been right. McGonagall had received unwelcome news._

Severus brought himself out of his reverie as he reached the Headmasters office and knocked.

"Come in," called Dumbledore and he opened the door to see the Headmaster sitting behind his desk with a very Muggle-looking Draco Malfoy in one of the chintz armchairs.

Severus raised an eyebrow at Draco's choice of clothing, and the hideous green jacket, and Draco smirked ever-so-slightly.

"Lemon drop, Severus?" asked Dumbledore.

"No," said Severus, and he sat in the other chair.

"Well, then," said Dumbledore brightly. "What is it you wish to know, Draco?"

Draco turned to Severus. "Are the Death Eaters after Laney?"

Severus frowned. "Who?"

"Laney," said Draco coolly, as if he had just been lied to. "Delaney Chalmers-Malfoy."

"A Malfoy?" he asked.

"My niece," said Draco.

"You have a niece?" It took a minute for it to sink in. "Lucius has another child?"

"Had," said Draco shortly. "Lukas. Illegitimate son of Lucius Malfoy and Rosemary Eddington, of the French Eddingtons. He was killed ten years ago and Delaney is the result of his marriage to a Muggle woman."

It was all he could do not to gape. "I see," he managed. "And you think Death Eaters are after your niece?"

"The attack at Diagon Alley. I was under the impression that Drew Winton was targeting her."

Ahh. That would explain it. Draco seemed to read the understanding in his eyes because he raised his eyebrow.

"The attack on Diagon Alley was not planned ahead of time," Severus explained. "That was why the Aurors were not on the scene earlier because I was unable to inform the Headmaster. I knew that there was a reason to the attack, but the Dark Lord merely explained it as showing his strength."

"So the Dark Lord knows that Lucius has a half-blood grand-daughter," said Draco.

"It would appear that way, yes," said Severus. "There is little that Lucius does not tell him. Most likely they were trying to get rid of the evidence that the Malfoy line had entangled itself with Muggles. Drew Winton is known for his unquestioning obedience and I believe it is safe to say he was told to target your niece."

"How did they know where we were?"

Severus shrugged. "Lucius has a formidable amount of spies, as does the Dark Lord. They probably waited until an opportunity presented itself where they could wipe out the blemish on the line without raising suspicion."

Draco nodded in such a way that Severus knew he had already drawn the same conclusions, but was looking for more confirmation.

"How many Horcruxes have been destroyed?"

Severus blinked at that, not only because of the abrupt change of topic, but because he hadn't known that Draco knew about the Horcruxes. Dumbledore looked equally surprised.

"What do you know of them?" asked the Headmaster, peering curiously at Draco.

"Not much," said Draco. "I know that last year the Dark Lord regained a Horcrux from Nagini and that the Horcrux in the trophy was destroyed, but I don't have a count."

"We believe there is seven in total. There was a diary of Tom Riddle that was destroyed in your second year by Harry," said Dumbledore, watching Draco carefully. Severus did as well, but Draco only frowned slightly.

"A diary?" he asked. "Are you sure it was his?"

He obviously had nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets and Severus was willing to bet that he had no idea that Lucius had played a key role in releasing the basilisk.

"Quite," said Dumbledore, "and there was a ring that I discovered last year and destroyed. It once belonged to Tom's uncle, but that is all I will reveal at this moment as the information is quite confidential. Not even all of the members of the Order are aware of the Horcruxes."

Draco nodded before turning to Severus again. "Why was the Dark Lord mad at Aunt Bella?" he asked.

"Where did you hear that from?" asked Severus.

"Around," said Draco, shrugging slightly.

That meant he wasn't going to tell, so Severus answered. "I don't know," he said honestly, "and none of the Death Eaters seem to know either, except for the inner circle, but they aren't speaking."

Draco frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. He was obviously trying to work out what it might mean.

"Is he planning anything big that I should be informed of?"

Severus shook his head. "Right now there doesn't seem to be an attack brewing, but he has sent out a lot of spies. When they return, we'll know what they found out, but for now, we're just trying to figure out where they went. Anything else?"

"Not now," said Draco, looking up at him. "Though I may have to ask you some questions later." He turned to Dumbledore now. "If that is alright?"

"As long as you share any conclusions you come up with," said Dumbledore. "Your insight could be quite beneficial."

Severus saw Draco hesitate slightly. He knew the boy wasn't quite up to choosing sides just yet, and sharing his thoughts with the Order would be more than just rescuing Potter as a one time favor. It would be a working relationship.

Taking advantage of Draco's distraction, Severus reached out with Legilimency, carefully pushing past half-erected mind shields and delving into the former heir's mind. The vision came and it was all he could do not to jerk in surprise at the sight of Voldemort breaking into a large dance number, backed by his masked followers. It took only a moment to identify the dance as the Electric Slide.

Snape withdrew, impressed and justly rebuked at the intrusion. He also knew that Draco wasn't angry at his attempt at mind-reading. It was apparent from the false memories and decoy shields that the boy could have thrown him out much more forcefully, and painfully.

"Okay," said Draco finally, not at all perturbed by Snape trying Legilimency.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, looking quite pleased with Draco's answer.

Severus knew that this was Dumbledore's way of hedging Draco into joining the Order. It was motivated by genuine concern, but some of Dumbledore's reasons were not altruistic. He would always put the good of the majority of the minority, even if that meant using manipulation. He wondered if Draco knew that, but one look at the wariness in the grey eyes made him positive that the boy was quite aware of it. Lucius, after all, was quite the master chess player, and he was not speaking about on the board.

"Well, then," said Draco, standing up and taking back control of the meeting, a subtle message to Dumbledore that he was no one's pawn. "I need to be getting back. Good day."

Severus sat back, watching Draco as he Flooed out of the office. This would be interesting.


	8. Returning to Hogwarts

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, well, judging from the wait you guys were forced to endure on this chapter, the seventh book would come out in year 2010. My apologies, please read the authors note at the end of the chapter.

Lucinda: Sorry to keep you in suspense. Thanks for reviewing.  
Bena24: Thanks so much for that, glad you liked it  
Jill: Thanks for the opinion, and for the review  
Spyrit: Yeah, I thought sneaking would be something Snape would do. Thanks for the review, I always look forward to hearing from you  
Lilith: You're probably back from vacation now. I took a long time. Apologies and news at the end of the chapter. As always, love your reviews  
Mierta: Hey, it's fine if you miss a few chapters. Heck, I missed a few Mondays on the whole update thing  
Wildly obsessed: I will be doing the whole 'Hermione and Draco share a room thing", why? Because it makes sense, besides, Draco needs to learn to be nice. Thanks for the review!  
Hidden jewel: Glad you liked it, even more glad that you found it funny, Thanks for reviewing  
Richkid.draco: Update sooner? Maybe once I'm back from England. Please read the A/N at the end, and I'm glad that you like it so much  
Berta: Demanding much? Lol, no it's all cool. Please read the A/N at the end of the chapter and thanks for reviewing  
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Drewberry: Hey, nice catch! Will def. fix those. Thanks for reviewing!  
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Rachel: Yeeeahhhh, about that whole update thing, I'm sorry. I explain more in the A/N at the end of the chapter. Please read and thanks for reviewing.  
QuinkyDink: Hi! It's been awhile. My fault. Thanks for reviewing, and I'll think about that Laney bit, just for you (grins)  
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The Hogwarts Express: train, full of students piling on from the Platform. Parents: kissing their kids good-bye, helping them shove trunks on board. Friends: shouting to each other, running through the throng, squealing.

Draco pushed his way through the crowd, deftly avoiding the sharp elbows, although even he couldn't avoid all of the jostling. He had already put his things on board in the Head Student and Prefect compartment, helped a few first years board (as his badge demanded) and now he was searching for his niece.

He took a moment to stare back at the train. It was hard to believe that only one year ago he was hiding in a compartment, burning the Malfoy Code, and trying to think of how he would get out of taking the Dark Mark. Now, he was a rogue player who had denied the Dark Lord to his face.

"Uncle Draco!"

He turned to see Laney waving excitedly, her mother gripping tightly onto her hand, and although Laney was the one leaving home, Samantha seemed to be the one who was nervous. Laney looked incredibly cheerful, as usual.

He forced his way to them, Laney running up to hug him about the waist to which he stiffened slightly but then petted her dark hair. She pulled back to look up at him with wide eyes.

"Is this the Hogwarts Express?" she asked.

"It is indeed," he told her.

"It looks just like _Hogwarts: A History_ said it would," said Laney.

Draco smirked slightly, glad that he had sent her the book, even if she did sound like Granger.

The whistle blew, and Laney gave her mother one last squeeze.

"Take care of her," said Samantha to him.

"I will," Draco promised, and then the Muggle woman reached out and pulled him into a hug as well, pressing her lips to his cheek.

"You take care of yourself as well," she ordered. "And come over during the Christmas break."

"Yes, ma'am," said Draco.

"Good. Now go before you miss the train. And Laney, I expect owls."

"Yes, Mum," Laney promised, giving her mother one last hug good-bye and then grabbing Draco's hand and pulling him towards the Express.

He levitated her trunk on board while she watched with wide eyes. He already knew what compartment she was going to be in, the third on the left in the fifth car that already held two girls and another boy. It was no coincidence that those children had been the students that Draco had helped sit. They were all first years, two half-bloods, one Muggle-born. All three had siblings in Hogwarts and he had checked up on them and their families, accessing the school records and anything the Ministry had on them. It was illegal and slightly difficult as he had to forge several documents, but Laney was his niece, and he wanted to make sure that she had the right friends.

He opened the door and they all looked up with terrified expression. He said nothing, not wanting to spoil Laney's chances. He merely put her trunk away and ushered her in. He gave her a quick half-smile before shutting the door.

The train blew its last whistle, and then started, slowly at first but building speed. Draco looked out of the door window at all of the parents waving good-bye, feeling a slight pang that might have resembled sorrow if he had actually cared to register it. While Lucius was not around all of the time, he always had breakfast with Draco on the day of his departure. Draco missed it.

He shook away the nostalgia and made his way to the front of the train, stepping into the compartment that was housing the seventh year Prefects and Heads. It was a larger partition, to seat everyone, and the seats were actual comfortable chairs and not benches. Being a Prefect or Head Student really paid off.

Draco entered and everyone turned to gape at him.

"You?" demanded Ron Weasley. "You're Head Boy?"

"I'm quite surprised myself actually," said Draco, turning a sneer in his direction. "I was thinking that this school was beyond all help, but when I got my badge I realized that perhaps there was hope left after all."

His gaze swept the room, taking in everyone and any possible threat in a split second. Weasley and Potter were the Gryffindor Prefects. While normally the Prefects were boy and girl, because Granger had been promoted, the open Prefect spot was available to the next applicable candidate in the Gryffindor house. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Prefects were sitting in the back together and the Slytherins were grouped in the corner. They were Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson, an interesting choice for Prefect because they both came from Death Eater families and because Nott had been initiated last summer.

Although some might have thought Dumbledore mad for choosing those particular students, Draco could see the logic behind it all. By giving the two students a position of power, it compelled them to abide by the rules if they wished to maintain that authority. It also allowed the professors to be doubly hard on them because they were supposed to be examples for the other students.

Draco sat in the empty seat that was between Potter and Pansy, the black haired boy giving him an odd look, and the girl giving him a disdainful sniff.

Silence fell over the small room, a silence that made everyone uncomfortable but him. He dug around in the school bad he had brought with him and pulled out a book dedicated to the theory behind complex Transfigurations. Beside him, the Golden Trio started up a quiet conversation which prompted the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to re-start their own discussion.

Draco half-paid attention to the book, keeping an eye out on the two Slytherins. He knew that while his disownment was being kept a secret until the official date, it would not stop the Dark Lord from giving his followers instructions to go after him. So far Nott kept glaring at him and Pansy was ignoring him.

"Is not!" a Ravenclaw exclaimed. The Golden Trio's conversation had been put on hold so that Weasley could join in with the debate between the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs about Quidditch players.

Draco could see Potter listening in rather intently, though he couldn't add to either side seeing as he had been locked in his room the entire summer. Hermione was rolling her eyes at all of them.

"Jameson is not as good as Henwick," said Weasley heatedly. "Sure, he can fly fast, but so can anyone on a Meteor."

"But he has some amazing moves," countered the Ravenclaw by the name of Pierce Rogers.

"But he has no consistency!" Weasley argued.

Draco had the urge to point out the Weasel's own failings in that regard, but he remembered a second later that he couldn't really afford to keep up his feud with Ron, no matter how much he detested the boy. He settled for smirking, which no one saw, and turned the page in his book.

The compartment door opened, but Draco didn't bother looking up, not until a voice said "Uncle Draco?"

Every head in the room shot up, eyes going to the small girl in the doorway and then to each other in shock.

"Yes, Laney?" asked Draco calmly, closing his book.

"Buy me some candy," Laney all but ordered, but then she tempered it with, "Please?" and a bright, winning smile.

He couldn't say no, knew he wouldn't be able to say 'no' to her the moment he saw her. So he got up and walked over to her, and she latched onto his hand, sending the occupants of the car into a second state of shock.

She practically dragged him down the corridor to the trolley, and started picking through the candy cart with her three new friends. He only bought a few things for her, making sure that she wasn't going to get sick on all of the sweets. She thanked him with a hug and a kiss that made his lips twitch, and then he made sure that she was settled back into her compartment before making his way back to his own seat.

Nott was waiting for him outside the Prefect's compartment, arms crossed. It was an intimidating stance, especially because the Slytherin was beefy and muscled, but crossing the arms did not leave for an unhampered reach for the wand, if need be. A more threatening, and more practical stance would be letting the wand arm hang loose, fingers twitching slightly, as if aching to draw it.

Draco ignored Nott, starting to brush past him and re-enter the car, but Nott surprised him. He hadn't thought that the boy would initiate physical contact, but he was wrong. The seventh year had become daring with his Dark Mark, empowered by his allegiance with the Dark Lord. Nott's hand snagged his shirt collar before he could reach for the door handle, and then he was shoved backwards into the opposite wall, the back of his head smashing painfully into the wood paneling.

"You're not untouchable anymore, Malfoy," Nott snarled. "Or, should I say, _traitor_?" He annunciated the last word with a shove. "So, that was your little Half-Blood niece, wasn't it?"

Nott thrived off of fear, and so Draco turned bored grey eyes onto the larger student.

"Do you mind, Nott?" he asked lightly. "You're wrinkling my shirt."

Nott's expression turned dirty. "You don't seem to understand," he hissed. "We who are loyal to the Dark Lord have free reign over you. One does not deny the Dark Lord to his face."

"Funny," Draco retorted, with the same unconcerned tone, "I thought I had just done that."

Nott shoved him further into the wall. "One does not deny the Dark Lord to his face without facing the consequences. He has specifically said that we are to punish you, punish you without killing you that is."

"Rather kind of him," said Draco.

"He wants that honor himself," Nott revealed. "And he will have it. You aren't safe, Malfoy, not even in your cozy Head Boy position."

"No doubt you'll be playing delivery boy then?" asked Draco, wondering if it was Nott's job to lure him into the Dark Lord's grasp.

Nott answered, which Draco was hoping he would.

"The Dark Lord is going to pay all of the traitors and Mud-bloods a little visit himself, so watch your back Malfoy, watch yours and that little Half-Blooded niece of yours."

Draco didn't say anything, instead he sprang into action. He grabbed Nott's shirt collar and pulled down, forcing the boy to bend slightly and then jerking his knee up and into the boy's gut. Nott's stumbled back, the air whooshing out of his lungs and Draco took that opportunity to twist him around by the arm and slam him up against the wall.

The Prefect door burst open and Potter and Granger hurried out, pulling up short at the sight of him. They had obviously heard the large thump Nott's large body had caused upon hitting the wall.

"Everything alright over here?" asked Potter, concern in his eyes.

Draco was a little startled to see the concern directed at him, but he nodded, shooting the boy-hero a significant look.

"Quite fine," he said. "Theodore and I are just having a little chat, isn't that right, Theo?"

He gave Nott's arm a jerk upwards, causing the boy to grunt out a 'Yes'. Granger looked shocked at the display, but Potter nodded.

"Alright then," he said, and guided his girlfriend back inside, even though Hermione looked like she was loathed to leave the scene without the proper disciplinary action.

"Now, listen to me, Nott," said Draco, his voice going dark. "If you even dare to look at my niece, I will gouge out your eyes. If you place a hand on my niece, I will cut off your arms. If you raise your wand to my niece, well, I'll break _both_ of yours." He paused, making sure that the innuendo was understood. "Now, I want you to inform the rest of your Death Eater friends of that, understood?"

Nott didn't answer so Draco took the time to smash Nott's nose into the wood wall. The bone broke, blood spurted everywhere.

"Understood?" he asked, his voice like granite.

"Yed," Nott managed, the broken nose making speech difficult.

"Good," said Draco. "Go tell them now."

He released the boy, who staggered slightly, hand going to his nose. Nott's expression was deadly, but the anger was directed at him, and not Laney. Draco wanted it to stay that way. Draco watched until Nott stumbled down the corridor and into another compartment and then released a breath, trying to calm his tensed nerves.

Draco re-entered the compartment and sat back down in his seat, hoping to have the rest of the ride to Hogwarts undisturbed. Twenty minutes later and the door burst in and an irate Blaise Zabini strode across the small room and pulled the book from his hands.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Well what?" asked Draco, completely mystified.

"You told me at the end of the year to ask you the day after graduation if we could be friends. Of course, I was assuming that I could get into contact with you after graduation. I tried owling the Manor a few times, but I receive no reply and then all of the rumors are going around Slytherin about how you're dis-," Blaise broke off as Draco jerked his head sharply.

"Oh," said Blaise, then "_Ohhh_!" He considered that for a few seconds and then, "Seriously? Is it because of what they are saying you did?"

Draco could see Potter looking at him, clearly being able to follow the conversation because of his visions, and Hermione looked as if she was trying to put together the pieces. Draco knew she would have most of it figured out in a few days or so. She was a smart girl. Weasley, however, was a different story. He was glaring at Draco, distrust and hate in his eyes.

"Anyway," said Blaise, "I didn't even know you were back until Nott went barging into the other Slytherin compartment, you know the one with all the Death Eaters, because you broke his nose. What about by the way?"

Potter raised his eyebrows at him, Granger looked horrified, and Weasley still glared.

"Things," said Draco vaguely.

"So?" asked Blaise, looking at him expectantly.

"So what?" asked Draco, not following Blaise's line of thinking at all.

"So are we friends or not?"

"Oh," said Draco. "Yeah, I'm safe."

Blaise grinned as if genuinely pleased at that answer, and Draco suspected he was, so he let his lips twitch up in response. He was suddenly was sick of the Golden Trio's staring and stood.

"Do you want to meet Laney?" he asked.

"Who's Laney?" asked Blaise. "New girlfriend?"

"No," said Draco, walking to the door. "She's my niece."

"Your what? Whoa," said Blaise. "You're gonna have to explain this one to me."

So Draco did, knowing that as a fellow, high-society Pureblood Blaise would understand the intricate workings of scandal and be properly discrete about the information. He then knocked on the compartment door and swung it open. Laney was chatting away with her friends, playing exploding snap and eating candy, but she immediately looked up when the door opened and grinned.

"Hey, Uncle Draco!" she said.

"Uncle Draco?" asked Blaise turning to him and snickering. Draco ignored him.

"Laney, this is Blaise, one of my good friends."

Laney stood and stuck out her hand, which Blaise shook with a serious face.

"Very pleased to meet you," he said. "And I'm even more pleased that you don't look like an albino like your Uncle."

Laney burst into giggles, which made Draco glad that he had introduced them, even if he had a feeling that he was going to be the butt of a lot of Blaise's jokes. Taking the advantage of Laney's distraction, he checked the room, making sure that everything was running smoothly, but the other three occupants looked happy enough. He turned back to Laney.

"But you do have his pale skin, even with the freckles," Blaise was saying. "I'll just have to call you mini-Malfoy."

Laney laughed again, obviously pleased with the name and Draco smiled, ever-so-slightly. Laney had another friend, and another ally.

"She's a sweet kid," said Blaise, once he and Draco were back in the halls. "Hard to imagine her being related to you."

"Don't I know it," said Draco.

"So, a brother then," said Blaise, looking at him speculatively. "I trust that the knowledge of a bastard Malfoy and a Half-Blood might shock the wizarding world and that said Half-Blood might be in quite a bit of danger?"

"She'll be safer once we're at Hogwarts," said Draco.

"You sure about that?" asked Blaise.

"Yes," said Draco, already having things figured out in his head. "Yes, she will."

They reached Hogwarts sometime later, and Draco made sure that Laney was safely away on the boats with the rest of the first years before climbing onto his own transportation.

Hogwarts hadn't changed a bit, except for the fact that a certain red-haired Professor was absent from the Head Table, and Draco felt a pang of regret that Bill was not there. He would have felt better knowing that he had one ally on the teaching staff, though he supposed Dumbledore and Snape would be looking out for him. Still, it wasn't the same. Bill was, well, like a brother, even as much as admitting that sentiment went against his independent, solitary ways.

He sat with Blaise at the end of the Slytherin table, and he knew that his position there was noticed by everyone at the school. He had on his Ice Prince mask though, so most of them dismissed the notion that perhaps he was no longer acknowledged leader of Slytherin. Besides, he knew the truth. Slytherin followed the most powerful, and if he was given the chance to prove it, he would still have sway over them.

"Hey, Lupin's back!" said Blaise, nudging Draco and nodding towards the Head Table. Sure enough, the werewolf was at the Head Table, between Dumbledore and Severus, the latter looking most put out at the seating arrangement.

Once the students were settled in, Dumbledore rose and quieted them all.

"Attention please, students," he said. The words were unnecessary, because as soon as he stood the hall fell silent. "We will now be sorting the first year students, so please welcome in your new housemates."

The conversation started up again, even ass McGonagall led in the first years. Draco had only one focus, a small girl with almost-black hair and freckles and bright blue eyes. It was the first year where he didn't pay attention to what the Sorting Hat was saying, and then the sorting had begun.

Evelyn Brighton, or Evie as she was nicknamed, went into Gryffindor, as did Kenneth Dredding. Draco knew they would go into Gryffindor, having worked out the statistics of previous relatives and their own placements.

The hall went silent when McGonagall read out "Chalmers-Malfoy, Delaney," stuttering over the 'Malfoy' part. All eyes went to Draco, who was watching his niece. She bounded up to the stool and sat, putting the hat on. Draco knew it would take a few seconds for the hat to decide, but those few seconds felt like eternity, and then the Hat called out

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The hall went dead silent, Draco was so relieved that he couldn't even bring his hands together until beside him Blaise stuck his fingers in his mouth and gave a whistle.

"You go, mini-Malfoy!" he called out, and then Draco remembered to applaud.

Slowly, the applause caught on and Laney pulled off the hat, leaving it on the stool and giving a wave to Draco before joining Evie and Kenneth at the Gryffindor table, and Draco smirked ever-so-slightly. He had put her in that compartment for a reason.

The other girl that was in the compartment with the three, Charity Hendersen, went into Ravenclaw, which Draco had figured she would. He wanted his little niece to have good inter-house relations as well as a good support base in her own home.

"Why do you look so smug?" Blaise asked, catching the look on his face.

"No reason," said Draco, shrugging. "Just, those three first years that were in the compartment with Laney? I helped all of them put their trunks away."

Blaise was in Slytherin for a reason, and so he figured it out. "You sat all of them together so that Laney could have some non-Death Eater friends," he said.

"Yeah," said Draco. "And I knew that Laney would go to Gryffindor, and I knew that at least one of them would make it there as well."

"How did you know that?" asked Blaise.

"Family placings," said Draco. "Did you know that if an older sibling is placed into Ravenclaw, their younger siblings have a seventy percent chance of being put in Gryffindor? See, the parents of Ravenclaws are generally Ravenclaws themselves and have a good work ethic, are logical, and they generally raise their children with strong morals. Their first child ends up in Ravenclaw ninety percent of the time, but the younger siblings want to distinguish themselves from their older siblings by going a different route, in other words, they won't try on school work as much. However, they still have a strong moral base, and they usually end up in Gryffindor."

"You're shitting me," said Blaise, staring at him incredulously. "You've got to be shitting me."

Draco smirked, resisted the urge to grin, and directed his attention to Dumbledore who was standing once more.

"Welcome, returning students and first years, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At this time, before the feast, I would like you all to welcome our returning Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Remus Lupin."

The Great Hall burst into cheers, the Slytherin table opting to forego on the applause, though Blaise clapped enthusiastically and Draco applauded politely as well. The werewolf was a decent teacher.

"And," said Dumbledore, quieting them down, "it is my pleasure to introduce our Head Girl, Miss Hermione Granger and Head Boy, Mr. Draco Malfoy."

Again, the Slytherin table didn't cheer, but no one really noticed, seeing as the Gryffindor table was cheering so loud nothing else was audible. The food appeared on the table then, and everyone dug in, the loud cheers dying out as the hungry students stuffed their faces. Draco merely picked at his food, too busy watching the Slytherins and his niece to eat more, even though Blaise tried to distract him.

"Head Boy means private dorms, right?" he asked. "That will be nice, getting away from them for the night?" said Blaise, jerking his head at the rest of the Slytherins.

Draco suddenly realized that Blaise would be very much alone in a room full of Death Eaters and he frowned.

"You're going to be alright, aren't you?" he asked.

"Course," said Blaise, brushing off his concern.

"You sure?" asked Draco, searching the other boy to find reason for the nonchalance. Blaise rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, before leaning in and speaking softly.

"My great-grandmother was fey," he said. "I inherited some of her…defensive traits when I turned seventeen last winter. A few months after you obliviated Nott and his gang, they tried to curse me while I was sleeping, but I went all psycho-like, with fangs and claws, so they won't try anything again."

"When was this?" asked Draco.

"When you were sick in the hospital wing," said Blaise. "Besides, I'm all chummy with the Golden Trio now."

"Let me know if they do try anything," said Draco. "I'll take off points, give them detention, and maybe even obliviate them again."

Dinner gradually came to a close, and by the end some of the younger students were asleep on the tables. Dumbledore finally dismissed the students, the Prefects leading the first years up to the dorms. Draco ignored Dumbledore's gesture for him and Hermione to meet him and instead pushed his way over to where Potter and Weasley were directing the first years upstairs.

"Potter, a word," he said, not giving the boy an option but pulling him aside. He looked pointedly at Laney, traveling out the door, and Potter followed his gaze. He turned to the boy-hero. "That, Potter," he said, his eyes boring into the emerald pools, "is my niece. She is a Half-Blood, do you know what that means?"

Harry's eyes were confused, but mostly because Draco had taken him completely off guard.

"Oi, Malfoy!" Weasley yelled from where he was herding children up the stairs. "Get your ferret paws off of him!" He started forward, intent on rescuing Harry, but then the Ravenclaw students started pouring through the doorway and he was swept away in the mass of bodies.

Draco turned back to Harry, his grip tightening on the Gryffindor's arm as he explained.

"Listen carefully, Potter, I will only say this once. The Malfoy line has many secrets, one of which was Lukas Malfoy. He was the result of a fling of my father's with another old Pureblood line, and while that is rather scandalous, it is still acceptable. What is not acceptable is that he married a Muggle woman and had a child before he was killed. Laney is that child, and now the disgrace is just beginning. There are many people who would benefit with the sudden disappearance of said blemish, do you understand?"

"They want to kill your niece," said Harry nodding, following the conversation, but then it finally seemed to sink in. "You had a _brother_?"

"Not important right now," said Draco. "What is important is that you watch her, got that? Keep an eye open for her. If anything happens to her, I go after the perpetrators, and then I go after you."

Harry nodded. "I'll look out for her," he promised, eyes sincere.

"Good," said Draco. He released Potter's arm and then headed over to where Dumbledore was waiting with Hermione in the quickly emptying Great Hall. Hermione was watching him curiously, but Dumbledore spoke before she could do more than send him questioning glances.

"I trust you all read the letter describing your duties?" he asked.

Draco nodded. It had been the expected things: The Heads are responsible for patrolling, for planning the dances, for keeping general order, and had power to take points and assign detentions should the case require it.

"Yes," said Hermione, nodding vigorously.

"Good, good," said Dumbledore. "Well, then, I shall take you to your dorm and allow you to turn in for the night. You both have a very busy year ahead of you."

He twinkled at them both and led them out of the Great Hall and onto the third floor before stopping at a painting detailing a valley landscape, complete with a river and leafy trees.

"The password is parsley," said Dumbledore, "but you can change it if you so desire."

The portrait swung in obligingly, but so did the entire wall so that it was not necessary to climb into the room. Draco stepped in, following Hermione, and took in his new home.

There was a fireplace on the left, with two couches and armchairs surrounding a coffee table in front of it. Bookshelves lined the walls, and two large windows, complete with window seats, cushions, and long drapes were directly across the room. To the right a wide staircase led up to a landing where three doors were situated. The far door had Hermione's name, the middle was the washroom, and Draco had the last.

Draco supposed that the room would have been very suitable had not the carpet and drapes been green and the couches and armchairs red, obviously in an attempt to combine their house colors. The walls were kindly a dark wood paneling.

"It's beautiful," said Hermione, completely enthused.

If it was the sodding North Pole, Draco thought darkly, but he thanked the Headmaster who bid them both goodnight and left.

"Alright, Malfoy," said Granger, turning to him once the Headmaster had left. "We need some ground rules."

Draco resisted the urge to groan.

"First off, no friends over except on weekends, or unless it's a study group. Secondly, tell me first before you bring friends over. Third, I take showers at seven each morning. Is that going to be a problem?"

Draco shook his head.

"Fourthly, keep things relatively quiet during the week, especially if you have people over. That's about it, do you have anything you want to add?"

"No."

"Alright," said Granger, and then they looked at each other awkwardly before Granger spoke up again. "You're disowned, aren't you?" she asked.

Draco had expected the confrontation, but he hadn't expected it so soon.

"How is that any of your business?" he asked.

Granger shrugged. "Well, I do have to work with you, so I suppose I should know these things."

"Being Head Girl does not allow you to pry into my private life," said Draco, and he walked past her to take a seat on the couch and, despite it being red, it was quite comfortable. Granger followed.

"It's the only thing that makes sense," she said, sitting across from him. "Blaise was talking on the train, and he said some things, and you said you were safe, which means you're not a Death Eater."

"Haven't we already gone over this? It's none of your business."

"It's just nice to have facts verified by an outside source."

"You call a few words enough for verification of your wild theories?"

"They're not really wild," said Hermione. "You're in a Ministry-run operation to spy on Death Eaters, but you know that a few key people running the operation are in the Order. You are associating with Blaise, who wants nothing to do with the Dark Lord. You also have a niece who seems quite fond of you even though part of her last name is a Muggle surname. She must be quite the disgrace to the line of Malfoy, and my guess is that you're an even bigger tarnish."

"Is there a point to this, Granger?"

"And that's another thing. You haven't called me 'Mudblood' yet. In fact, you stopped about halfway through last year. You also haven't made any obnoxious boasts about your father."

Draco released a silent sigh. "Why do you even care?"

He watched Granger shrug, her face scrunched slightly. It was an almost child-like gesture of concentration.

"Honestly," she said. "I'm not quite sure. I like to figure things out, to understand them, and right now you're rather confusing me. I have to say, I never expected you would defect from the whole Pureblood thing, and there's part of me that still says not to trust you, but I want to."

"That's your Gryffindorish tendencies to look at the good of every one. It's a good way to get you killed. Listen to the part that's saying I'm a Death Eater bastard and leave it at that."

He wanted her to leave it at that. He wanted some peace, some privacy.

"But you see I can't," said Hermione, looking oddly triumphant. "Because if I say that, then I'm really no better than the Death Eaters who are prejudiced against Muggleborns."

Draco was smart, was a genius, but her logic completely threw him.

"What?"

"Well, it's like me calling you 'Pureblood' as a derogatory term and never getting to know you because of my preconceived notion that you might turn me over to the Dark Lord."

"But I actually might do that," said Draco. "I mean, you have no way of knowing. Not trusting a Pureblood with close ties to the Dark Lord is just common sense and practicing survival skills."

"But it's still a form of prejudice," said Granger. "And if I really am on the side that is supposed to be against hate and prejudice, then I should at least try to trust you."

"Even if it means getting carted off to the Dark Lord?"

"Even if it means getting carted off to the Dark Lord."

He stared at her, incomprehension muddling his mind. He finally shook his head.

"Merlin, you and Potter do make a good couple, don't you? The hero and the idealist."

She suddenly laughed, which just confused him even more. He was going to get a headache.

"Sorry, it's not you," she explained. "It's just that most people think that me and Ron make a better couple."

"Weasel?" asked Draco. "You and him? You're complete opposites though."

"And so people generally thought we were perfect together, that we completed each other."

That was the most nonsensical thing Draco had ever heard, and he told her so.

"Not very romantic, are you?" she asked.

He could tell that the question was rhetoric and he was glad. He had a feeling that she knew more about him than he was comfortable with.

"Anyway," she said. "Getting back on topic, I guess that I wanted to apologize for being such a bitch-,"

He blinked. Did she really just swear?

"-and," she continued, "I would really like to become friends with you, or at least become compatible working partners."

"Friends?" he asked.

"Compatible working partners, then?" she asked, undaunted. She seemed to take pity on his stunned expression. "How about we just take it one day at a time?"

She held out her hand, looking at him expectantly. He slowly took it.

"Alright, Granger," he said.

"Hermione," she corrected. "First name basis helps establish a more personal atmosphere."

Draco blinked. Was she serious?

"Well, good night, Draco," she said, shaking his hand and then releasing it, her lips easily pronouncing his given name. "I'm off to bed. I'm exhausted."

And with that she picked up her bag and headed towards the stairs. Draco could only stare at the couch where she had been sitting, trying to work through exactly what had happened, and exactly what he should do now. He needed allies, yes, but there was more to this. She was offering friendship as well.

He remembered the first time Bill had offered to be his friend. He had laughed at the Professor, but Bill had been serious, and he had been a friend. And it was a good thing too, the friendship, it had helped Draco figure things out, given him someone to rely on. Bill wasn't here right now, something that Draco regretted. He needed to talk to the red-haired man, to get his advice on what to do. But he had a feeling he knew what Bill would say. He looked up.

"Gra-Hermione," he said. She was on the stairs already, but she turned.

"Yes?"

"I'm disinherited," he said. "The paperwork is still being processed for my legal disownment."

She nodded. "I'm sorry," she said. And he had a feeling she really was. "Don't stay up too late," she said, before she closed her door and left him alone. "Big day tomorrow, Head Boy and all." It was said in a light tone of voice; she was teasing him.

He smirked in closing and she shut the door.

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There were always at least three children who were homesick the first night, some crying, others running off into sibling's rooms if they had relatives in the same house. If not, the Head of House usual comforted the child, or went to fetch the siblings for the children if they were in another house. That was why Minerva McGonagall was at the portrait in front of the Head dormitory with the unpleasant task of having to wake one Draco Malfoy.

Laney wasn't crying like the other homesick girls, but she was sitting up in the common room when she should be sleeping. Minerva had taken an immediate liking to the little girl; she reminded her a lot of Lily Evans, bright, cheerful, well, not now of course. It was Minerva's opinion that Draco Malfoy would not be safe around his niece. No doubt his father would wish to expunge the existence of one Half-Blood grand-daughter, and she was sure Draco felt the same. But Laney had asked for him, and she had such beautiful eyes.

It was one-thirty in the morning and McGonagall was expecting the Heads to be asleep so she entered the common room. Draco Malfoy immediately looked up from where he was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, leaning against the side of the couch and reading a book.

"Is something the matter Professor?" he asked, standing and putting the book down.

Minerva stared for a moment, not used to seeing the Malfoy boy in anything less than his fine silk robes. He was in his black school trousers and white button-up shirt, but the sleeves were rolled partially up and the first few buttons were undone. It was the most informal she had ever seen him, and it was a shock. She was so used to associating him with the expensive silk robes that it never occurred to her that he would wear anything else.

"Your niece cannot sleep and would like to speak with you," she said primly. She watched him, but his face remained impassive, merely nodding and joining her at the door, and Minerva, against her better judgment, led the snake to her lion's den.

Laney was still curled up on the couch with her kitten when they entered, but she smiled when she saw her uncle. Minerva watched as the Slytherin crossed over to the girl and crouched down.

"You can't sleep?" he asked quietly, and it was startling to hear his voice without the drawl or derisive tones.

"Mum usually reads to me before I go to bed," said Laney. "Or she talks to me in French."

"You speak French?" Draco asked.

"No, I just like listening to the sounds. Mum says that Dad used to speak French to her every night, and so she did for me too."

Minerva watched Draco nod, and then get up to sit next to the girl. Laney shifted, so that she was leaning up again. When Draco spoke next, it was so soft she couldn't understand him, but then she realized that the words weren't English.

"Je sais les cieux crevant en éclairs, et les trombes/Et les ressacs et les courants : Je sais le soir/L'aube exaltée ainsi qu'un peuple de colombes/Et j'ai vu quelque fois ce que l'homme a cru voir!"

"You speak it too," said Laney, snuggling in closer. "Did Dad teach you?"

The edges of Draco's lips turned up softly, the ghost of a smile. "I am French, like your father, but I moved here when I was a few years younger than you."

"What were you saying?" asked Laney.

"A poem," said Draco. "About a ship. Would you like to hear more?"

Laney nodded, and then made herself comfortable. Minerva listened as the foreign words started again, exotic in their intonation, and soothing in the rhythm of the poem. She left the room, somehow certain that Laney would get to sleep that night.

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The translation:

"I have come to know the skies splitting with lightnings, and the waterspouts  
And the breakers and currents ; I know the evening,  
And Dawn rising up like a flock of doves,  
And sometimes I have seen what men have imagined they saw !"

The Drunken Boat by Arthur Rimbaud, translation by Oliver Bernard, eighth stanza. (I love that stanza. I bet it sounds even better in French)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, you probably want to know what happened to me. No, I did not die, move, lose internet, abandon the story, or get abducted by aliens. I was, however, sick for awhile (the near hospital kind of sick), and then I had awful writer's block. The kind where you sit at the computer and stare. Blankly. You may right a word here or there, but it's stuff like "The" or "He" or "Water flows into the ocean, only to return again. Ducks aren't yellow."

For those of you who I responded to, you know the bad news already (or, rather, bad news for you), and now I'll tell the rest. I am going overseas for this college semester, or more specifically, England. I will not be updating while I am away for a few reasons. One, I'll be really busy with school and also tourism. I'll be hopefully visiting France (Paris more specifically), Switzerland, and Italy as well. Two, writing and posting can be rather stressful at times, and being in a foreign country living out of a suitcase is stressful enough. And three, I don't know how good my service is over there. Oh yeah, I also want to kick back a bit, see if I can't get over the rest of my writer's block.

I realize many of you are upset, and I understand. It sucks having a story go on vacation like that, especially if you really like it. I promise you, however, that (barring an emergency or tragedy) I will begin updating again late December. I (again barring any unforeseeable incidences) will never leave a story incomplete. This story will end.

Thank you for understanding, and if you don't understand, well, try. I love all of my readers, and I love all of my reviewers even more (hey, it's the truth, you can't love what you don't know). I will see you all around Christmas.

Yours truly,

Aduro

p.s. I leave for the airport at six in the morning, and it's twelve a.m. now, so I'm going to bed. Wish me luck!


	9. Relations and Rumors

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own a bunch of new clothes from Englad though!

A/N: So, this is me, back from England, and this chapter is a Christmas to my beautiful reviewers. I just want to say thank you to all of those people who wished me well on my trip, and to allof those who reviewed. Thank you! And I apologize for the non-individualized responses to the reviews, but I basically just got back to England, and rushed to put this up in time for Christmas. I love you all. Enjoy.

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Relations and Rumors

Draco left the bathroom, steam curling out behind him as he stepped into the hall that now felt frigid even though he was dressed in the uniform trousers and shirt. He fiddled with the button on his cuffs as he walked over to Hermione's door and knocked.

"I'm out," he said, and then walked back to his room in search of his shoes.

A week and a half had past and it was surprising how quickly they fell into pattern. He could hear Hermione start her own shower as he shoved his feet into his black shoes and then combed out his hair, leaving it to air dry. He shrugged on his school robes and left his room, shutting the door behind him.

Already, on the low table in the middle of the couches and armchairs, was the Daily Prophet, a school subscription that he didn't have to pay for, and a charming tea and coffee set along with a platter of biscuits and other small tidbits. Being Head Boy definitely had its perks.

Draco sat in his usual armchair, pouring himself a mug of coffee and then picking up the Daily Prophet and reading the articles. Hermione came down a while later, sitting across from him and fixing herself a cup of tea. It was raspberry today. Although she liked a variety of tea in the morning, she generally stuck with the fruit flavors.

He wordlessly handed her the pages he was done with and she began to look them over as well. Although they were able to co-exist, they didn't really interact with each other. It was his fault, he knew. Hermione often tried to rope him into conversations.

As usual, the real story about what was going on in the wizarding world could be found in the smaller stories in the back of the paper. A decline in Fudge's popularity meant that a sacking was being considered and the quiet, natural death of Muggleborn Horace Jones on the Board of Governors meant murder, most likely Death Eater caused.

"Anything interesting?" asked Hermione.

"Not really," he lied.

He put that paper down and picked up the old Potions book he had been looking through for the past week, having exhausted all other sources. The Persian Runes had talked of a counter to Veritaserum, and he had translated all of the ingredients save one called 'moon flower'. The problem was that there was no such plant in the modern world which meant that the herb was either re-named or extinct. He was hoping for the former, but so far he couldn't find a trace of the plant.

He and Hermione both left for breakfast together, but only because she left at the time Draco usually walked down as well and they went their separate ways once they reached the Great Hall, Hermione to the rest of the Golden Trio, and Draco, after making sure that Laney was there and safe, to the end of the Slytherin table with Blaise.

"Potions," said Blaise with a groan. "I hate Potions."

"It's NEWT's Potions," said Draco. "You're supposed to hate it."

"I don't see you complaining," said Blaise.

Draco shrugged. "I like Potions."

It was true. NEWT's Potions was the most challenging course he had taken at Hogwarts, and while that meant he could still do the homework and long essays without ever having to pick up a book, he still had to pay attention in class. Not close attention, of course, but attention none-the-less.

"You're a sick man, Draco," said Blaise, shaking his head and stirring his porridge vigorously. "A sick man."

The mail came then, an owl landing in front of Draco which made him frown slightly. He wasn't expecting anything and there was no sender marked. He checked the envelope over, but there wasn't a curse on it either. He opened it carefully and unfolded the letter. A page full of Persian Runes stared back at him.

Bill had left for France a week ago. Draco knew this because the former Professor had sent him a few owls, making sure he had settled in all right and what not. Then Bill had crossed the Channel and the letters had stopped because Bill was keeping a low profile. Draco hadn't expected a letter of information so soon.

He frowned again, wondering if he had time to decode the letter right now.

"What's the troubled look for?" asked Blaise.

"Oh, the usual," said Draco vaguely, folding the letter back up and putting it in his pocket. He would decode it later, when he had time to do it properly.

Time trickled closer to the first class of the day, and students slowly began grabbing their bags and heading out, the students having Divination leaving first so they could make it up the tower on time. Draco waited until Blaise was done playing with his food and then they walked down to the dungeons, Blaise humming the funeral march under his breath which made Draco's lips quirk up.

NEWT's potions was originally a class where only students receiving an 'O' or higher on their OWL's could make it into the advanced class. Because there was no grade higher than an 'O', Draco, Hermione, and two Ravenclaws were the only students that Snape would allow in his class. Dumbledore, however, said that due to the small number, Snape would have to open up his class to students receiving an 'E' or above. That was why Potter and Weasley, along with Blaise, Pansy, Nott, and six Ravenclaws were admitted as well.

Today they were learning to make the Wolfsbane, and Snape took the initiative to insult Professor Lupin at every opportunity to the general amusement of Nott and a few Ravenclaws who were Purebloods as well. Draco had a feeling that the Wolfsbane lesson was to see which students might be able to make the potion for Lupin during the school year as Snape was no doubt busy with playing double agent and teaching.

"The blood of the wolf is added next," said Snape, stalking the aisles and watching them all. "No, Mr. Weasley, three units, not three rounded ones. Measure!"

Ron flushed red, in anger, not embarrassment. The red liquid in his cup was only a millimeter over the marker line.

"Now, right afterwards stir clockwise until the potion begins to boil. Yes, very good Mr. Nott. Mister Malfoy," that was a hiss, "what _exactly_ are you doing?"

Snape turned on him, an ugly look on his face and immediately the class quieted. It had been one and a half weeks from the beginning of school and Snape had pointedly ignored him up until this time. Now, it appeared, he was going to play the part of a Death Eater under orders to make his life miserable. It would be the first time the students in the class would witness the new position of Draco Malfoy, not as teacher's pet, but as the dethroned Prince of Slytherin.

"Stirring clockwise," said Draco coolly.

"You are not stirring, you are creating a whirlpool. Is it such a hard task for you, Mr. Malfoy, that you cannot even stir your potion properly?" The words were said in the same derisive tone Snape reserved for Potter.

The class went absolutely silent as the students stared in shock, except for Nott and the Pureblood Ravenclaws.

"You're right," said Draco, shocking them all. "I am a terrible stirrer of Potions. Would you, sir, deign to teach me the proper technique of moving a large silver spoon throughout a semi-coagulated liquid?"

It was said in such a contrite, appealing sort of tone that the sarcasm was blinding. Snape scowled as the students tittered, face hardening in rage.

"Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, and watch your tone."

There were a few gasps and Draco merely smirked. Like he cared about points?

"And now add the crushed pearl-blossom petals. In ancient times this flower was called the 'moon flower' because it only blooms on a full moon and it was thought that the petals could stave off werewolves, so be sure to wear some for your Defense class if you are worried about being bit."

The Golden Trio looked outraged at the slight to their favorite professor, but Draco's mind was spinning too quickly to take note. Moon flower was pearl-blossom. It existed; it had just been renamed. Now all he needed was the space to test his theory on a counter to Veritaserum.

He spoke up in a drawling sort of tone, a sneer painted on his lips. "If we wear garlic necklaces, will we ward you off as well?"

The class inhaled collectively, waiting for the explosion as Snape turned on Draco, his features schooled into a look of outrage. Draco looked past that and saw that Snape's eyebrow was raised fractionally at him. He gave the teacher a meaningful look.

Snape acquiesced. "Detention tonight, Mr. Malfoy, or should I say, _Draco_?"

A low blow, but one that would be expected of a loyal Death Eater. Snape had to save face, and Draco hid the flinch at the cutting referral to his disinherited state. Nott was laughing cruelly, and some of the smarter Ravenclaws were catching on and staring at him in shock.

Potter obviously realized that Draco had been insulted in some manner because he was glaring at Snape, and Hermione was shooting him a sympathetic look. Beside him Blaise growled at Nott, opening his mouth and showing elongated fangs, which made the Slytherin choke on his laughter, paling slightly. Draco found that the support of the three actually made the words less cutting and he smirked, shooting off a wordless spell at Nott's potion.

Nott's cauldron exploded, showering the boy with the red, gloppy substance and the room descended into chaos, only quieting once Snape bellowed for them all to leave, swearing that if he found the culprit of the explosion he would give them a lifetime detention with Filch.

The class left, chattering intensely with one another, and Draco could tell from the furtive looks that most of the conversation was about him.

"He called you Draco," said Blaise as they wandered up to the library. They had a full half an hour before their next class.

"He did," Draco agreed.

"Rather blunt."

"It was."

"Going to create quite a stir."

Draco grimaced. That was just what he needed.

It only took a few minutes, quite surprising really, and then the rumors were spreading. Draco Malfoy was disowned. Draco had left his family deliberately because of Laney. Draco had dueled his father for control of the estate and lost. His own particular favorite was the rumor that he had fallen in love with Hermione Granger and saved her from a Death Eater mob and was hence forth disowned. Several people were inclined to believe this one, seeing how he and the Gryffindor girl hadn't fought or even exchanged insults yet this school year. It did, however, cause quite a commotion during dinner.

Supper was the usual affair, students discussing classes or the latest in Quidditch. Draco, by then, was used to the curious glances the students were giving him, wondering if he really was disowned. He was not prepared for Weasley to come barging over.

"The hell have you done to Hermione, you filthy git?" he demanded.

Draco pushed his half-eaten dinner away from him. "What are you on about, Weasel?" he sneered. "Has your poverty depraved your mind as well as your pocket?"

It wasn't exactly the nicest thing to say, especially to a boy that was so close to Potter and the rest of the Order, not to mention he was the brother of Bill, but Draco disliked the red-haired ball of emotion in front of him.

"I swear, Malfoy, if you have done anything I will personally strangle you and then-,"

"Ronald!"

That was Hermione's sharp voice, putting the boy in check. She was accompanied by Potter, who looked somewhat amused. Draco had a feeling he didn't want to know why that expression was on Potter's face, but then Hermione put her hands on her hips and frowned at the Weasley.

"Honestly, Ron," she said reprovingly. "Is that anyway to treat the father of my baby?"

Blaise choked on his mashed potatoes beside Draco, who was too shocked to pound his friend on the back. He was certain that his face betrayed his surprise and it was quite a while before he managed to regain control of his features.

"Pardon?" he asked, his mask slipping back on and regarding the trio coldly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Apparently the general consensus is that you defied your father out of your love for me after it was discovered I was with child and we eloped."

"We eloped?" Draco repeated. He wasn't usually one to be inarticulate, but it wasn't every day one found out about his runaway marriage.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Rather romantic, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose," said Draco. He turned to Potter. "No objections, I hope? And really, Granger, I don't appreciate my spouse dating while we are still wed."

"Yes, about that," said Hermione, wringing her hands in mock agitation. "Look, Draco, it's not you, it's me, alright? This just isn't working out between us and, well, I'm going to apply for a divorce."

"I see," said Draco, going along with Hermione just because Ron was gaping at the both of them. "We can still be friends," he said, picking up his tea. "Best wishes, and all." He saluted her with his tea cup and she turned to Ron.

"There, you see, Ron. It's all set. We're getting a divorce, are you happy?"

Ron choked slightly, completely flustered. "You seriously married him?" he demanded.

"No!" said Hermione, exasperated. "I was showing you how ridiculous the rumor was. No, we didn't elope and no, I am not pregnant."

"Then why don't you fight anymore?"

"Because we," here she gestured between herself and Draco, "have grown up and put prejudices aside. It's what you should be doing!"

"But Harry and Malfoy don't fight either," said Ron.

Hermione groaned. Any minute now, Draco knew, and she would be pulling at her hair. "Harry's grown up too, Ron. And Draco's a good guy."

Draco scowled, seriously affronted at the label, but Ron was not convinced.

"He's got you all under a spell, hasn't he? He's got you all muddled up because he's working with You-Know-Who." He turned to Draco. "I don't trust you, ferret. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater."

Draco was about to say something cutting back, but then a small voice interrupted.

"Uncle Draco?"

Draco looked down to see Laney at the table and she was frowning slightly.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Laney hesitated for a moment, but then she blurted out, "Did you really run away from your family because of me?" she asked.

Merde, Draco thought. He had completely forgotten about what effect the rumors would have on Laney. Shit. She didn't even know about Purebloods and what not, or maybe she did now that she was here.

He suppressed a groan. This whole thing was so completely complicated with no one getting the full story. It was assumed he was disowned, but no one was confirming the rumor. It was assumed that Laney was indeed a Malfoy, but again, no one knew how that exactly worked out. It was also assumed that Draco was no longer the Slytherin Prince, because he was in a compatible working relationship with Hermione Granger and he no longer used the word 'Mudblood', but once more, there was no hard proof.

Draco wondered if it would just be easier to tell everyone that he was disowned because he refused the Dark Lord, but he doubted anyone would believe him and besides, he couldn't do that to Lucius. It would be admitting his father was a Death Eater; besides, he liked his privacy.

"Let's go, Laney," he said, standing up. "I'll explain it to you, alright?"

She nodded, grabbing his hand as they walked out of the Great Hall together. He took her to the old Ancient Runes classroom, the one that Bill had used when he was a Professor and they both sat on the desks.

"Do you know about Purebloods and Muggleborns?" he asked her.

Laney nodded. "Harry explained it to me," she said.

Draco blinked at her. "Harry Potter?" he asked.

"Yeah. Sarah Johnson, a girl in my year, well, she has parents who aren't magical, and she got called a Mudblood by one of the Slytherins. We didn't know what that meant, Sarah and Evie and I, so we went to tell a Prefect, and then Harry explained it. Some Purebloods think that they are better than everyone else, but not all of them, because Ron is a Pureblood but he's nice. Are you a Pureblood, Uncle Draco?"

"Yes, I am," said Draco.

"But you aren't prejudiced, are you?"

"Not anymore," said Draco.

Laney frowned. "But you were?"

"Laney," said Draco, trying to figure out how to put this. His fingers automatically went into their pattern. "The Malfoy line is one of the purest wizarding lines in all the world, and also one of the richest. Because of that, the Malfoys are generally one of the most prejudiced wizards."

Laney obviously got the drift of where this was going.

"Prejudiced like You-Know-Who?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Draco, his fingers fumbling a bit. "You see…," he trailed off, trying to figure out a way to put this, and then he realized that there was no good or better way. No matter how he tried to put this, Lucius was, and would always be – "My father is a Death Eater."

For a moment, Laney didn't react and Draco was worried that she didn't know who they were, and then he would have to explain it, which would be even worse, but then Laney's eyes widened.

"A Death Eater?" she repeated. "So he…he kills people?"

Oh Merlin, it hurt so much to hear that from the lips of a child, but he nodded.

"Lucius Malfoy was put on trail for Death Eater affiliations after the last war, but he told them that he was under the Imperious, which is an Unforgivable curse which controls a person's mind, but then when the Dark Lord came back, he rejoined."

"But you're not a Death Eater," said Laney with conviction, as if she knew he wasn't one even without proof. Her belief in him was uplifting.

"No, I'm not," he said. "Lucius wanted me to join, but I didn't, and so he disowned me, made me no longer part of the family."

"So, I didn't make you leave?" asked Laney.

"No, but you want to know something?"

She nodded.

"Even if Lucius didn't disown me, I still would have left for you."

Laney smiled and jumped off her desk to throw her arms around him, and he returned the embrace. She pulled back after a few moments, her face going serious.

"Did your dad kill my dad?" she asked.

"No," said Draco, shaking his head. "Lucius, my father, he…loved your father, but my grand-mere, your great grandmother, was so prejudiced that she didn't want the Malfoy line in anyway associated with Muggles, so she killed him."

"Were you there?" asked Laney, eyes wide. Draco had a sudden flash to that day, Lukas smiling, grinning. He had picked Draco up and spun him around, and then laughing as Draco swayed dizzily when he put his half-brother back down. It was a sunny day, they were in the sun parlor, and the green of the curse contrasted so terribly with the whites and ivories and soft pale blues of the décor.

"Yes," he said softly. "I was there."

He returned to his dormitory after dropping Laney off at the Gryffindor tower to pick up his things for detention with Snape. Hermione was bent over some work, but her face was in such a frown of concentration, Draco immediately knew it wasn't school work. He got a glimpse of Ancient Runes.

"Your correspondent?" he asked, gathering his bag.

She nodded. "I think I've got it," she said, "but now I'm completely paranoid that I translated it wrong, that for some reason the code I'm using picked out the entirely wrong message. What are the odds of that, do you think? That, completely by accident, another code works on the same letter as well?"

"Infinitesimal," said Draco.

"That's what I thought," said Hermione.

Snape was waiting for him at the Potions Lab, sitting behind his desk with an eyebrow raised.

"I trust you have a good reason for wanting a detention?" he asked.

"I need lab space and ingredients," said Draco, shutting the door behind him.

"What for?" asked Snape.

"A counter for Veritaserum," said Draco. "Or rather, a suppressant."

"A suppressant?" asked Snape. "And you think you can do that, why?"

"Ingredients mentioned in a war account dated centuries ago."

"But you have no instructions?" asked Snape. "No proportions?"

"No."

"But you still think that you can do what every Potions Master has tried and failed at?"

"I'm not trying to oppose the effects," said Draco. "Just suppress it."

"So you've said. May I ask what you mean by that?"

"There are two parts to the Veritaserum. One is the compulsion potion, which makes the victim speak. The second is the truth potion, which makes the victim speak the truth. Most people over look the first part, but they don't realize that without the compulsion potion in the serum, the victim would have the choice not to speak if they so desire."

Snape actually looked intrigued, so Draco stepped forward and put the translation on the desk in front of him. Snape read it over, his brows furrowed, but then he nodded.

"It looks promising, but you don't really think that you can do this by yourself, do you?"

"I was hoping you might help," said Draco. He knew that Severus Snape was one of the best Potions Masters in all of Europe, and that his insight would be most beneficial. It would most likely reduce the time it would take him by half.

"Hoping?" asked Snape.

"I'm prepared to make the Wolfsbane Potion for you," said Draco, knowing that Severus hated making that potion, and for a reason. The timing on the potion was so exact that if the maker was off by more than four seconds, the potion would be impotent.

"I would still have to supervise you though," said Snape.

"Actually," said Draco, "I'm certified."

Snape raised his eyebrows, surprised.

"Summer before sixth year," said Draco.

"Impressive," said Snape. "Very well than, Mr. Malfoy, you have yourself a deal. Where do you suppose we start?"

"Making Veritaserum," said Draco. "We'll have to test the counter after all, and this time when we are brewing it, I want to make some notes, see if we can figure out how much of each ingredient we will need."

Snape gave a thin smile. "Good answer. Shall we begin then?"

Two hours later and Draco returned to his dorm room. He and Snape had started the Veritaserum, but it would take a month for the potion to be finished. It didn't really matter though because the important thing was to examine each step of the potion and analyze each ingredient. Then they would have to figure out a viable way of contradicting the potion with the ingredients on the list.

Hermione was still up, working on her homework now, and Draco sat at the table and pulled out the letter Bill had sent. He was intrigued to see what Bill had gathered already and he was excited to hear from his former professor, although he would never admit the latter. Not even to himself.

It was because of those reasons, and because he still had a lot of homework to start, that he didn't take his time decoding the letter, in fact, he completed it rather quickly. The information Bill incorporated into the message was intriguing. The Death Eaters and their own spies were looking into ancient manuscripts, though for what reason was unclear as of yet, and as of now, they were doing so discreetly.

He wrote out the translation on the parchment issued to them by Kingsley for the specific purpose of writing to the Aurors. There were protective spells on the parchments, ones that were specific to the Aurors. It would take days for anyone else to even attempt to open it, and that was if the Auror owls, which were faster and stronger and quite dangerous, were intercepted.

He folded and sealed the letter, intent on sending it out the next morning, and then looked up to see Hermione studying him. He raised an eyebrow.

"You decoded that rather quickly," she said, looking at him curiously.

Draco pulled up his shields immediately, silently cursing himself for allowing himself to relax when he was still in the company of another. He would have to be careful; just because he was in his own room didn't mean that he could be any less wary.

"It was an easier code," he explained.

"Oh," said Hermione, not looking the least bit convinced.

He didn't try to explain further, rather pulled out a few books and made himself busy. In reality he was re-reading the letter Bill had sent, because the letter, outside of the code, was a personal one, and reading Bill's kind words helped put his mind at ease.

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"I'm just saying," said Ron, "that you both seem to be on quite friendly terms with Malfoy and I want to know why."

Harry sighed, knowing that Malfoy would kill him if he did tell Ron about a certain incident involving a Cadillac convertible that occurred over the summer.

"I keep telling you Ron, I can't tell you. I would if I could, but I'm sworn to secrecy."

"Oh, but you can tell Hermione? Because she's your girlfriend? Is that it?"

"No!" said Harry.

"Then why is Hermione so nice to him?"

"I told you Ron," said Hermione. "We called a truce."

Harry, however, knew that there was something else that had happened. He could tell she wasn't telling the whole truth because Hermione looked away when she spoke.

"I don't believe this," said Ron. "Are you daft? Are both of you nutters?"

"Who's a nutter?" asked Ginny, coming to perch on the armrest of the couch Harry and Hermione were sitting on.

"Them," said Ron, gesturing wildly. "They're practically friends with Malfoy!"

"Draco?" asked Ginny. "Well, what's wrong with that?"

Harry's head whipped around to gape at Ginny. What had happened between her and Malfoy? Beside him Hermione was frowning as well. Ron was just red.

"What?" he yelped.

Ginny shrugged, nonchalantly, as if being faced with an enraged brother didn't bother her in the least bit. But then again, Ginny always seemed to be imperturbable.

"Think about it," she said. "Last year Draco saved my life from the ghoul. Last summer we hear of a bunch of seventh year Slytherins who have got the mark and Draco's name isn't among them. This year, he shows up with the most adorable niece ever who is a Half-blood, and he actually cares for her. Now, there are rumors going around that he is disowned. Put two and two and two and two together. It's called multiplication and it's not that hard."

Ron spluttered for a bit and then Ginny got up, shrugging.

"Of course, I could be reading too hard into it," she said, putting a hand on Ron's shoulder reassuringly. "I could just _want_ to believe that Draco Malfoy really is a good guy because then it means he's available for all of us good girls out there, and I am completely interested."

Ginny gave her brother a sweet smile and practically skipped away while Harry wondered if wizards had a spell for CPR or if he would need to give his friend mouth-to-mouth because Ron was so outraged at the statement he forgot to breathe.

The red-head finally remembered the survival instinct and took a deep breath. Harry reached out for Hermione's hand and gripped tight. She returned the pressure and they waited for the outburst. They were not disappointed.

"ARE ALL OF YOU OUT OF YOUR BLOODY MINDS? THIS IS MALFOY! THE FERRET FACE GIT THAT MADE OUR LIVES HELL! THE BOY THAT ALMOST KILLED BUCKBEAK AND CALLS HERMIONE THE M-WORD AND TURNED IN THE D.A. AND PRETENDED TO BE A DEMENTOR DURING QUIDDITCH AND WANTS TO KILL US ALL AND-AND…AND HE'S MALFOY!!!"

"He has a point," chirped up an Irish voice. Seamus and Dean stood in the entrance of the Gryffindor common room. "I mean, yeah, so things are a little fishy about Malfoy, and there are all the rumors going around about him, but is there any proof? Any hard evidence?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Ron, looking extremely grateful for the support. "Finally some sense! Harry, I know that you have this saving-thing going on, but some people do not need to be saved."

"Not _need_ to be saved?" asked Hermione, speaking up and her voice going sterner than McGonagall. It was in that instant that Harry felt a flash of empathy for his best friend. His girl-friend could be an extremely formidable opponent.

Ron recognized his mistake and tried to amend it. "Not want to be saved," he said. "I meant he didn't want to be saved."

"A Freudian slip," said Hermione. "You meant that he didn't deserve to be saved, didn't you?"

Ron flushed and looked down, but he still muttered "It's _Malfoy_."

"Yes," said Hermione, "it is Malfoy. But you know what, Ron? Every person deserves salvation, even if it was Salazar himself. For you to deny someone redemption makes you no better than those Death Eaters and I think that we all need to get over our own prejudices."

"But, Hermione-," Ron tried.

"No! I'm serious Ron, and I want you to try to be nicer to him."

"Nice? Nice? Since when is he nice to me?"

He had a point, Harry conceded. Draco didn't seem to like the red-head very much, but then again, Draco didn't seem to really like anyone.

"Ron-,"

But Ron had enough and he stalked away. "Talk to me when you've finished your mercy project with that prick."

Dean and Seamus followed Ron up to the dorm and Hermione and Harry both sighed, Hermione leaning over to rest her head on Harry's shoulder. Harry pulled her closer and then shut his eyes, reveling in the feeling of having the girl he loved pressed against him. Too many of those who loved him were gone, his parents, Sirius, but this year Remus was back, and Hermione was his girlfriend. The only thing that kept this year from being as good as it could be with the whole Voldemort threat was Ron's refusal to trust Draco Malfoy. Harry really couldn't blame the red-head. Harry had a reason to trust him; Ron didn't.

But why did Hermione trust him then?

"What happened between you and Draco?" asked Hermione, speaking up before he could.

"What?"

"Something happened between you two, didn't it?" asked Hermione. "That's why you were worried about him on the train and why you haven't fought this year."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, something happened. Something that I still have trouble believing on occasion."

"You can't tell me."

It wasn't a question, but Harry answered anyway.

"I can't tell you," he agreed. "And you can't tell me either, whatever it was that happened between you two."

"I suppose he still manages to remain infuriating even when he's a good guy," mused Hermione, turning her face up to him and Harry couldn't resist but to place a quick kiss on them.

"Don't let him hear you say that," Harry said when he pulled back.

"I think we should," said Hermione. "Let's go study in the Head Common Room. You haven't seen it yet."

"Not from lack of trying," said Harry, following her out of the door.

"I didn't want to press a certain Slytherin too hard. I was afraid that if the common room was invaded right off from the start with a bunch of Gryffindors, I would chase him right back to Voldemort."

Harry laughed and then grabbed Hermione's hand, swinging them slightly as they walked. He liked the reassurance that she was really there with him.

Harry gaped at the room when Hermione finally led him in. It wasn't particularly extravagant, but with the rich colors and wood paneling, it looked exceedingly comfortable.

"There are to be no displays of public affection in my presence," came a familiar drawling voice.

Harry started, finally noticing that Draco Malfoy was seated in one of the armchairs, reading a book. His feet were propped up on a low table, and he looked quite at ease, not even looking up to acknowledge them.

"You don't really have a right to say that," said Hermione. "Goodness knows how many times I've caught you and some girl snogging in the halls when you were supposed to be patrolling in the past years."

Draco tilted his head slightly towards her but didn't say anything, which Harry took as a conceding of Hermione's point.

"So, Harry," asked Hermione. "What do you think?"

"I love it," said Harry. "Although, I can't say I'm a fan of the green and red." It made the room look something like a Christmas tree ornament.

"I like the colors," said Hermione. "It reminds me of you."

"Of me?" asked Harry, surprised.

"Of you in your Quidditch robes, red uniform, green eyes," explained Hermione. "Did I ever tell you the time I first realized I loved you?"

Harry shook his head and wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist when she stepped closer.

"It was last year, after the Quidditch stand was finally reconstructed and I was following you and Ron out to your practice. Of course, the Slytherins were there, and you had that race. The fire happened after that, and for a split second, I couldn't see you, and I thought that you were dead. It was as if my heart just stopped beating, and all I felt was cold, but then you appeared, and you were helping Ron. You were so brave then, but all I could think was that you were alive, and I knew then, that I loved you, more than a savior, and more than friend, but as a man, as Harry. So, red and green, like the robes and your eyes."

Harry kissed her. Long and hard. How could he not after a speech like that? He finally pulled back when he was out of air and a droll voice spoke up.

"You know, Granger, all you had to do was ask for some privacy."

Harry blushed red, finally realizing that the blond Slytherin had just been a witness to the intimate scene, but Hermione merely turned so that she was leaning against Harry as she faced the other boy.

"It's Hermione," she corrected, "and would you have really just left if I had asked you to?"

"Of course not," said the blond, packing up his books and then shrugging on his school robes. "But then you could have told me about your intent to blather romantical nonsense to your significant other, and I, in a bid to retain my sanity, would have left."

He shouldered the bag and brushed by them, heading out of the door before turning.

"I'll be in the library, come and get me when you want to patrol." He then nodded to the both of them in parting. "Hermione, Potter," and then he turned again.

"You can call me Harry, you know," Harry called after him.

Draco glanced back. "Merlin," he muttered, so that Harry could barely hear him, "you too, then?"

Harry could see the blond shake his head as he left, and then the door closed behind him. He turned to his girlfriend, who was looking very satisfied with herself.

"You said all of that just to make him leave?" he asked, wondering if he should feel hurt that she could make up such a beautiful story like that.

"Of course I did," said Hermione. "Besides, these couches are the most comfortable ever, and I want some cuddling time with my boyfriend. Somehow it wouldn't be the same with a certain Ice Prince making snide comments through it all."

She grabbed his hand and led him over, and Harry had to admit that the couches were indeed most comfortable, especially with Hermione curled up beside him.

"And anyway," she continued, turning his head to look at her. "The story I told you was one hundred percent true."

Harry looked into her warm brown eyes and smiled.

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Happy to see me back? Like the chapter? Leave a review, cuz I missed you too!


	10. One Slip because of a Snap

A/N: Hey, sorry about the long wait. I actually got in a car accident on the way to college (I'm fine, not a bruise on me – I think God gave me a guardian angel on the drive). So, I'm a little behind schedule, and here's the next chapter a little late. I'll try for Monday updates at the least.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, hence, I'm in a triple dorm at college and not my own room.

**R2D2**: Wow, you were up late. Glad you liked the chapter and thanks for reviewing.  
**Sabi**: Yes, we will see Draco in animagus form, if not in this story, then in the last one. It all depends how quickly I can think of an animal for him. Any suggestions?  
**Gr****!M**: Sorry about the wait. I like the dino idea. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Richkid**: I'm happy your liking the story, and there's more Laney in this chapter for you. Thanks for the review.  
**Meghan**: It is good to be home, thank you. Hope you like the next chapter.  
**Meirta**: And a happy new year to you as well (just a little late). Thanks for the review.  
**Bena24**: Thanks for the review, and sorry about the wait.  
**Faith Maguire**: Good to hear from you. I hope you had a happy holiday, and thanks for reviewing.  
**Kasiuke**: I hope I made your day again. Thanks for the review.  
**QuinkyDink**: Yeah, was a coincidence. I honestly was just looking for a way to keep him from the potion for a bit so I didn't have to write it (lol). Thanks for pointing out I should do more with his genius. Hope you had a great holiday, it was great to hear from you, and thanks for reviewing.  
**Erika**: It is one of those 'relevant' chapters. It was a lot of set up, and this next one has more action. Hope you enjoy it and thanks for reviewing.  
**Joy**: Overly fluffy for you? It was a little bit for me too, but I just feel bad for Harry so I had to give him a good girl. Hope I didn't turn you off too bad and thanks for the review.  
**Mask**: Well, they could, but then there would be nothing to complain about.  
**Lilith**: I'll be trying to post more regularly, at least once a week. I'll see if I can manage more, but college really keeps me busy. Glad to talk to you again. Thanks for the review.  
**Siri**: There's some D/G interaction in this chapter for you. Hope you like it, and thanks for pointing out the grade thing!  
**B: **Yeah, took a while didn't I? Thanks for reviewing.  
**Drewberry**: My trip was excellent, thank you for asking. And I'm glad that you liked the chapter, and thank you for the review!  
**Spyrit**: Your comment about backseat in the Caddy had me dying of laughter. It's good to here from you and thanks for the hilarious review.  
**Wolf**: Sarcasm? What sarcasm? lol. Glad you like it and thanks for the review.

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Draco was sick of the rumors flying around school about him. Not only did he hate the attention and the searching gazes and whispers and points, but he absolutely hated the lack of respect, the lack of power.

Normally, when he strode through the halls, people pulled away slightly. Normally, when he glared at someone, they fell silent. Normally, when he spoke, people obeyed. No longer. Now, he was just like any other student. Worse, he was the student that was the recipient of the Slytherins taunts. Worst, everyone was delighted by it.

Well, not everyone. The younger students (fifth year and below) were still afraid of him, but the sixth and seventh years took delight in his new found position as the scum of Slytherin. While none of them would dare raise a hand or wand at him, they would laugh, spit out crude remarks, or goad the others on.

Draco ignored them for the most part. While he inwardly cursed the lot of them, he was not motivated to retaliate. He would not be the Ice Prince if every word caused him to break, and besides, he had a lot on his plate at the moment, and he was beginning to wonder if even a genius has limits.

There were the nightly sessions with Snape. Brewing Veritaserum was not easy, and it required a lot of exact work and different ingredients that needed specific times to be added, so every so often Draco would have to wake up in the middle of the night and add more.

There were also the letters from Bill to be decoded. While there weren't many with actual information, the former Professor liked to keep him in touch and up-to-date. Draco enjoyed the exchange of letters, but they still had to be sure to communicate in Ancient Runes, and putting an entire message into Ancient Runes took significant time, even for a genius.

And on the topic of Ancient Runes, Draco was also trying to figure out the rest of the Persian dialects, although that particular project of his was getting pushed to the back shelf with his Head Boy duties, not to mention the fact that he still had Quidditch to worry about.

The Slytherin team was not going to keep him for captain, even though last year it was pretty much a given that he would succeed Warrington, but now it wasn't likely that they would even put him in a position. That thought hit him rather hard. He loved to fly, and merely circling the castle on his free time did not equal the excitement of a game, especially a game against Potter, seeing as Potter was the only boy in school who could best him.

Quidditch was a great stress reliever as well. It allowed him to release all of his pent up energy, well, that and shagging, though he doubted Pansy would really like to dally with him now. But still, Pansy said that she was going into politics, which meant that she wasn't thrilled with Voldemort, so maybe there was hope for him after all. Merlin, he hoped there was. He was not a sex-crazed male, but he was a teenaged boy, and the prospect of being celibate for the year was not an appealing thought.

There was a knock on the common room door and Draco looked up. It was Wednesday after classes and he wasn't expecting anyone. He wondered if it was for Hermione and called out "Come in" rather testily, and at his command the door swung open and Laney stepped in. Draco was immediately on the alert, checking her over for any signs that something had happened, that someone had done something to her.

"I can't do my Transfigurations," said Laney, holding up her book and parchment.

Draco relaxed marginally, though he finished his check of his niece. She was wearing just the skirt and sweater part of the uniform and her hair was wet and combed away from her face. She had obviously just taken a shower as her skin looked scrubbed pink.

"Transfigurations?" he asked, and then motioned for her to bring the book to him. She looked very much relieved that he was going to help and quickly joined him, setting down the offending essay and book on the table, kneeling beside his chair.

"How's school?" asked Draco, picking up the essay and reading the prompt and then what she had so far.

Another thing he was responsible for: looking after Laney. While that was hardly any problem because Laney was quite capable and had a good amount of friends, Draco was still worried for her. It couldn't be easy, having an uncle who was the talk of the school, and a hated figure. Laney didn't seem to mind; she'd even told a few students off for spreading rumors about him. Still, that just meant she might anger the wrong people.

"It's alright," said Laney. "I hate Potions though. That man is so mean."

Draco made a mental note to speak to Snape. "How about everyone else?"

"I love Care for Magical Creatures," said Laney. "Last class, Professor Hagrid let us see the Unicorns he was showing to his fifth year students. They were really pretty."

"Mmm," said Draco, noncommittally. He didn't really like animals, besides dragons and thestrals, well, and Buckbeak, but he didn't want to put a damper on Laney's enthusiasm. He picked up Laney's book next and flipped to page thirty-eight, knowing that the information she needed was there. He had read this particular book twice and that meant he could probably come close to reciting the book word for word, even though he hadn't read it since he was younger than Laney.

"Here it is," he told his niece, holding the book so she could see it. "This is where it describes the difference from changing an object into another as opposed to turning it back into its original form."

Once Laney read over the passage, and after Draco explained the fundamentals to her, she seemed to understand, but Draco still kept an eye on her as she wrote.

There was another knock on the door and Draco glared.

"Come in."

Ginny Weasley stepped into the room, spotting Laney and waving.

"Hey, Laney," she said, sitting across the table from them. "How are you?"

Draco scowled at her, but Laney was already replying.

"Uncle Draco's helping me with Transfigurations because I was confused."

Ginny groaned sympathetically. "I actually came to see Hermione for help with Transfigurations too, but I'm more than confused, I'm downright lost. I hate that class."

She made a face and Laney giggled, then rolled up the essay she was now done with.

"Could you braid my hair again, Nevra?" she asked.

"Sure," said Ginny.

They had obviously done this before, because Laney handed Ginny a hair tie and then knelt on the floor in front of her. Ginny brushed through her hair a few times with her fingers, and then proceeded to gather up the top layer of Laney's hair and separated it into three parts.

"So," said Ginny, addressing Laney, "Uncle Draco can't braid hair?"

"Of course not," Laney laughed. "He's a boy."

"Boys can braid hair," said Ginny. "My older brother Bill used to braid my hair all the time when I was little."

"No, he didn't," said Laney in the tones of a child who is sure that a grown-up is merely pulling their leg.

"No, I'm serious," said Ginny. "He could do regular braids, French braids, and four and five braids. I bet he could even do a French twist."

"He really did your hair?"

"Every morning when I was little, well, every morning he wasn't at school. He and mum used to fight over who would do my hair because I was the only girl, so I was the only one with hair long enough to do. Although, now Bill grew his hair out too, so he braids his own."

Laney seemed unconvinced. "Well, how did he know how to braid?"

"My mum taught him. Boys don't pick it up really fast but they can learn. I bet even your Uncle Draco could learn."

"But braiding is a girl thing and Uncle Draco's a boy."

"Yes, he is. But I bet he'd be good at it. What do you say, Draco?"

Draco looked up. Why the hell was the Weaslette talking to him? His suspicion must have showed in his face because Ginny laughed.

"Oh, come on. Your niece just said that boys can't braid hair. Aren't you going to defend the male race from this blatant stereotype?"

"I think the male race will survive," said Draco dryly, turning back to his book.

"You know," said Ginny, whispering conspiratorially to Laney , "I think he's afraid of failure. Tragic, really. Won't even try new things because he thinks he won't succeed."

She was baiting him, deliberately. It was something some other girls might do to flirt with him, but surely not the Weaselette? He studied her with narrowed eyes. Her hair was slightly curly, pulled back in a pony tail, and she had on her skirt, shirt, and sweater from the uniform. Her eyes were the same shade of hazel as Bill's, and they seemed to have the same sparkle of perpetual cheerfulness, though there was something darker behind the depths.

It was that glimpse of shadow that intrigued him, and Laney was looking at him expectantly, so he relented, moving to the spot beside the Gryffindor girl on the couch. He, of course, already knew how to braid, but he had never braided hair before, or learned to French braid, like Ginny was doing now.

"See," she said. "It's relatively simple. The one on the edge goes over the middle one, and then the other side goes over the middle. Because this is a French braid, we take in more hair before each cross."

He didn't just watch the pattern; he watched her fingers, which ones held the strands and which ones were free to gather new hair. She was obviously experienced in the matter of hair styles because her fingers worked flawlessly through the damp strands.

"Alright," she said, undoing her work, "your turn."

It was much different, actually braiding the hair then watching it. He followed her moves exactly, and did a passable job, although, for fear of pulling to hard, his braid came out rather loose.

"Not bad," said Ginny, once he had finished. She took the braid and wrapped the hair tie around it as she looked over his work with a critical eye. "Although I think you must have braided before."

"I trust I have successfully defended my fellow men then?" he asked.

"Or just proved that you have a few girly tendencies," Ginny agreed.

Draco raised an eyebrow, daring her to elaborate. She didn't, but it wasn't necessary with her smile.

The door opened then, and Draco had to turn to see who it was. Hermione entered the room, raising her eyebrows at the two of them sitting next to each other.

"Is there something you two want to tell me?" she asked.

Draco glared; Ginny rolled her eyes.

He moved back to his seat on the armchair that gave him complete view of the entire room. He was like a veteran Auror, always needing to be able to keep tabs on everyone, not allowing anyone to sneak up behind him.

Laney left after that, giving him a kiss goodnight on the cheek and then leaving with her books. Draco would have walked her back, but he knew that the halls leading to Gryffindor tower were watched by McGonagall at this time of night. Besides, if there were a few Gryffindors heading back as well, it would just make things awkward. He didn't want to cast a shadow on Laney's life more than there always was with the last name Chalmers-Malfoy.

His hand subconsciously drifted up to touch the spot on his cheek that Laney had kissed after the door swung shut behind her. For some reason he felt that a cold person like him couldn't be unaffected by the kiss of a child. He felt as if the anointed site should begin to crack, or the ice layers should peel away, but it was always the same: no change, just a small tingle.

He spotted motion in his peripheral vision and he looked up to see both Ginny and Hermione making cute faces at him.

"That was so sweet," said Ginny, and he knew that she wasn't entirely joking.

Hermione looked as if she was going to comment too, so he pointedly looked back to his book.

Being a genius has his advantages. It meant that he could read the book on Conceptual Potions and listen to the conversation between Hermione and the Weaselette. It was normally a trait that came in handy, but the only subject the conversation was centered around was Transfigurations and the littlest Weasley's complete incomprehension.

"Ugghhh!" Ginny groaned a while later, throwing down her quill and sprawling on the couch. "Maybe I'll just drop it."

Hermione was scandalized. "Drop Transfigurations?" It was uttered as if Ginny had just suggested she break into the Magical Museum of Artifacts and Antiques and snap the staff of Merlin.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Yes, drop Transfigurations. It's not as if I need it."

Hermione frowned. "I thought you wanted to be an Auror."

"Bloody hell!" Ginny exclaimed.

Draco actually looked up at the exclamation, eyebrow rising in surprise at the outburst.

"Why does everyone think that I want to be an Auror?" asked Ginny. "Every time the subject comes up, it's always 'You want to be an Auror, don't you Ginny?' I just don't get it!"

She paused, brow furrowing before she spoke again, turning to Hermione with her nose wrinkled up. "It's because of Harry, isn't it? Because everyone still thinks I have a sodding crush on him and am going to follow him, like a lost puppy, to the end of the world." She heaved a sigh of annoyance and slouched even further on the couch.

Hermione looked as if she wanted to laugh, but she swallowed the amusement for the sake of her friend. "Well then what do you want to be?"

"I want to go into law," said Ginny, sitting up, apparently much relieved that Hermione was taking her seriously. "I haven't decided exactly what yet, but I'm thinking prosecutor for the Ministry so that Death Eaters stop getting off with a bribe. It doesn't do the Aurors any good if the criminals they do capture are released the next day without so much as a hearing."

"Law," mused Hermione. "I think it would suit you, but I thought you needed Transfigurations for that."

Ginny shook her head. "There isn't any required classes for going into a law apprenticeship, but the more NEWTs you get, the better chance you have of getting picked up by someone good. I could still drop Transfiguration and take NEWT Muggle Studies or something."

"You could," Hermione agreed. "Will you?"

"No," said Ginny. "I'm too stubborn, so will you start from the top, one more time?"

Draco went to bed soon after, or rather, to his room so that he could concentrate on his book. He liked his room. It was large, comfortable, and done in peaceful shades of green and mahogany with off-white accents. It was also quite soundproof, meaning that Draco did not have to cast a silencing charm on his bed curtains at night, which was a pleasant change.

He went to bed at eleven, an hour quite early for him, but when he woke up in the morning, he was still tired. Hermione noticed it as well, though he doubted anyone else would.

"You look exhausted," the Gryffindor girl told him, joining him at the table for her morning tea. This time it was peach and passion fruit.

"Went to bed late," said Draco, shrugging off her concern with a lie.

"You always go to bed late," said Hermione. "You should try a sleep aid."

Draco made a noncommittal noise and kept browsing through the newspaper.

By the time his morning classes were over, he was seriously annoyed at his lack of status in the school. McGonagall had taken points off because of a note passed by another Slytherin, who only had to claim it was him. The teacher was all too eager to deduct points, no doubt trying to make up for lost time.

There was an incident in the hallway as well. Ravenclaws, this time. Really, everyone always assumed that the Slytherins were the only Death Eaters in the school. What they didn't realize was that if you took away those students who had Death Eater parents, the majority of those who were joining without family pressure were mostly Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

The incident this time consisted of a few choice words from the pack of seventh year Ravenclaws, and his own witty, yet cutting, remark. He was penalized. Detention actually, with McGonagall, as she was the one who overheard his retort.

During lunch his meal exploded in his face. He should have seen it coming; the warning signs were all there, but he was frustrated, and he didn't think they would stoop to anything quite that childish. The Great Hall immediately burst into laughter at the sight of Draco Malfoy covered in various entrees, pumpkin juice staining his hair orange. For a split second, he had the urge to hex Nott within an inch of his life. His mind had already catalogued excatly what dark curses he could get away with, and what hexes weren't illegal yet. Those were the ones he had invented himself. The Ministry couldn't ban what they didn't know existed.

His hand was already gripping his wand when the rational, logical, genius side of him caught up with his rage and checked his actions. He let go and merely wiped his face with the cloth napkin and tossed it onto the remains of his plate. A cleaning charm later and he was instantly removed of his lunch and then he met Nott's gaze and raised an eyebrow. He jerked his head towards the door and then left, waiting outside for Nott to join him. Nott did, with Crabbe and Goyle as well as three Ravenclaws, all seventh years. They were the ones who had insulted him on the stairs, no, they had insulted his family. No one ever dared to do that before.

"Well, Draco," drawled Nott, in a poor imitation of Draco's droll tones, "how are you finding the life of a traitor?"

"I should ask you how you are finding the life of a lapdog," countered Draco, occupying his mind with tapping out the pattern as slowly as possible. The desire to lash out was strong. "And to a Half-blood too. How low can you stoop, Theodore?"

"Not as low as you have fallen, traitor," sneered Nott. "You will pay. When the Dark Lord rises to power, with the faithful as his generals, you will pay ten times over."

"I thought the faithful were mere servants. Congratulations on the promotion."

"I don't like your attitude, Draco. And I'm sure that the Dark Lord would find it most upsetting as well."

"Ah, yes, the Dark Lord," said Draco. "However that is a personal matter between him and me. No doubt he will wish to speak to me about it, yes? Once he gets here, that is."

The last was said in a mocking tone of voice, even though Draco remembered Nott speaking of how the Dark Lord was going to pay the Mud-bloods a visit. He was hoping Nott would tell him more, if the Dark Lord would actually show up, if it was actually possible, but Nott didn't. Instead the larger, stronger boy grabbed his arm and hauled him down an abandoned hallway.

"When you insult out lord, you insult us as well," said Nott, releasing him with a shove that sent him back a couple of steps before he regained his balance. "And I don't like being insulted."

He stepped forward menacingly and the others advanced as well, backing Draco slowly into the dead end of the hall. Draco slipped his hand inside his robe pocket and gripped his wand. He would retaliate, but only when his revenge could be gained with actions that would appear to be self-defense.

"And you know what else, I don't like?" Nott asked. "I don't like how you act so special. I don't like how you lorded yourself over us since first year because 'Oh, my father this and my father that'. Well, guess what? He's not here right now, and he never will be because you have no family now. Not besides your weak little Half-blood niece."

"Watch it, Nott," Draco warned coolly. "Or I just might lose it." He was close to losing it as well, losing the control that reigned in his anger, his frustration from the entire week, from the entire school year. Students laughing at him, pranking him, whispering and pointing, asking stupid questions, goading each other on.

Nott snorted. "What are you going to do, Draco? Threaten me to death? You've done nothing but hide behind your family name for your entire life. Well, you don't have that name anymore. And your precious little niece doesn't deserve it either. She's no better than a Mudblood. Your father should have killed her the day she was born, her and that Muggle whore."

Draco bristled at that comment. He didn't know Sam very well, but she was nothing like his mother. She was not a whore.

"I would add in your brother on that statement," said Nott, "but I already know that he's dead. Your grandmother, right? She could see what the bastard was really like, what a failure, not worthy of the pure blood that ran in his veins. Like yourself."

Nott pulled out his wand and leveled it at Draco's head.

"I've been practicing my Cruciatus, just for this occasion, to use on you. You're father was too weak to see that his bastard son was a blood traitor, not even worthy to be killed the wizards way. He was too weak to take care of the problem himself, too weak to do away with you as well."

Draco's self-control was slipping and he sneered at Nott, his hand ready to pull at his wand at any moment.

"And I suppose you are proud of the fact that your father would kill you without a moment's hesitation?"

"My father is loyal to the Dark Lord, as am I. We will serve his every command. I will enjoy carrying out this order most especially. Cruci-,"

Draco wand was out in an instant, slashing through the air in a hard jerk, causing a flash of too-bright light and a deafening _crack_! He did not yell the curse, or even speak it, even though his mind was screaming in rage. He could vaguely hear the part of him that exalted in his power, the Lord Draco part, shouting in triumph, though for a moment, he couldn't understand why.

He understood the instant his eyes had recovered from the near-blinding light. The curse he used was an old one, and ancient one that created a shockwave of magic to be expelled from the wand with the force of a gunshot. It used more force than was necessary for this situation, but even as he surveyed the aftereffects, he knew that the results of the curse was four times more destructive then it should have been.

The six boys had been thrown half-way down the hall, and they were tangled together, unmoving. The doors leading off from the hall were caved in, the rooms in shambles with turned over desks and cracked chalkboards. In the hall, tapestries had tumbled to the ground and the few windows that were glass-paned had shattered. The stones that created the walls of the hallway were cracked in some places as well, dust and chunks of rock strewn across the floor.

He had done this. He had lost control, given into the temptation to unleash his power. He walked forward, wand still in his hand, though at his side. He stood over the six boys, noting that they were all still breathing, but then he saw another form protruding from a doorway further on. He frowned and stepped forward, a growing feeling of dread as he discovered what the form was. It was a cat, more specifically a tabby cat with markings around the eyes that looked like spectacles. He knew who it was. It was Minerva McGonagall, Transfigurations Professor, Head of Gryffindor House, and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, currently lying unconscious on the floor in her animagus form.

Merde. He was a dead man.

He looked up as footsteps came pounding towards him and then Professors Snape, Sprout, and Lupin rounded the corner. They pulled up short at the sight of Draco standing over the bodies. They were followed by Hermione Granger and most of the student population.

Immediately the whispers and exclamations started.

"Sweet Merlin, are they dead?"

"Malfoy killed someone?"

"What happened? I can't see!"

Draco watched as Snape and Lupin went about checking the bodies. His gaze was cold, hidden behind his frosty mask, though inside he was mentally calculating the chances of expulsion.

He watched as the students fell silent and stepped aside to admit Dumbledore who was humming slightly and eating a croissant left over from lunch. He raised his eyebrows at the scene before him and then looked up at Draco with twinkling eyes. He didn't say anything to him though, instead he turned to Hermione.

"Miss Granger, could you please direct the students back to their classes? Pomona, if you would please fetch Madame Pomfrey?"

"No need," exclaimed the medi-witch, pushing her way through the crowd. "I heard the explosion from the infirmary." She set about examining the unconscious students and then having the teachers whisk them up to the infirmary on floating stretchers.

The students finally began dissipating when Hermione threatened to give any stragglers detention and then Nott was finally carted off. Dumbledore had already spotted McGonagall's cat form and he motioned Pomfrey over.

"Oh, my," said Pomfrey. "I'll see to her right away." And then the witch was scooping up the cat and leaving Draco alone with Dumbledore.

Draco turned to Dumbledore who was chewing the last of his lunch and then brushing crumbs off of his beard and robes.

"Come up to my office, Draco," he said.

Draco nodded, and followed the Headmaster wordlessly up to the tower office, his cool façade wrapped tightly around his body though inside he was tensed, strained, waiting to hear his punishment for attacking six students and members of the faculty. He sat in the overstuffed chair, his fingers flying in the 1-3-2-4 pattern as he waited for Dumbledore.

The Headmaster seemed to be drawing the suspense out purposefully, because he slowly sat in his chair and then turned his blue eyes on Draco and then leisurely leaning back.

"So," he said finally, his eyes twinkling down on Draco, "I don't suppose you quite expected the results of that curse?"

Draco felt his cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink.

"The curse is one I have used before."

"But not with results quite like that?"

His cheeks were now an official shade of carnation. "No," he allowed. The last time he had used the curse he had only flung a few bookshelves to the wall. It had not taken pieces out of a building.

"As Head Boy, you, of course, know that we do not tolerate altercations in this school, so you will receive a detention with Professor Snape tonight. That's all; you are free to return to class."

The Headmaster smiled at him and Draco stared for a moment.

"I rendered six students unconscious." He didn't make it a question.

"Yes, you did. However you, Draco, are not a fool. I trust that one of them was about to attack you?"

"Nott was going to try out his Cruciatus," Draco confirmed, wondering why he had gotten off so lightly.

"While we do not tolerate fighting, we do promote self-defense, so a detention with Severus."

"I caused rather extensive damage to school property."

Dumbledore waved it off. "I once had a student cause rather spectacular damage in my office at the end of fifth year. He, like yourself, was…letting off steam. I have no doubt that you will be doubly careful to reign in your emotions next time you come into a conflict, especially as you are trying to keep that particular strength of yours discreet for the time being."

Draco was thoroughly flummoxed by now. It was as if the man had no desire to punish him and he couldn't, for the life of him, understand why. Dumbledore was smart enough to know that letting him off wouldn't convince him to join the Order or agree to anything else, so why-?

"I knocked out McGonagall. I attacked a teacher!"

Dumbledore's eyes lost a bit of their twinkle. "You did," he allowed. "However, I tried to persuade Minerva that her interference would not be necessary when she saw the group of you leave the Great Hall. Spying on students in hopes to discover a way to incriminate them is not something we promote at Hogwarts. No doubt, if she had made herself known this incident would have been avoided."

Draco nodded. He knew McGonagall did not have the best of opinions of him, and he knew that Dumbledore was aware of the fact. By admitting it, Dumbledore was trying to appear open and honest with him, and to also assure Draco that he was aware of the problem.

"I had a detention with Professor McGonagall this evening as well," said Draco. "I assume that I will serve that detention once she is recovered?"

"That will not be necessary," said Dumbledore. "Your detention with Snape will serve as both."

Draco frowned, his grey eyes clouding over and his fingers speeding up their pattern as they usually did when he came across something he couldn't quite grasp. Dumbledore gave him that kind smile again, the one that was faintly disconcerting because it seemed to Draco that the old man was reading his mind.

"You did nothing wrong, my boy. While there were better ways to have handled the situation, that does not mean that you made an error. The best of us have had a curse go awry, and we have all lost control, and no doubt will again before our time. Just because you are smarter than the average wizard does not mean you aren't subjected to ordinary slips. Besides, if you don't gather the gollywort tonight for the Veritaserum, you'll have to order in. The ache in my left knee tells me that there is a severe frost coming soon."

Draco blinked, but then nodded. "Very well, Headmaster," he said. He got up to leave but Dumbledore stopped him at the door.

"Be careful that you aren't spreading yourself to thin," the Headmaster said. "Marmalade only goes so far on toast. The same can be said with genius."

Draco nodded again and left, and this time, when he walked through the halls, people moved out of his way. He rewarded them all with his best glare, his wand arm held loose by his side and his fingers twitching, as if itching to hex more students. Those who passed him paled and hurried away.

Draco merely smirked, making a note to himself. The best way to go about reclaiming respect? Taking out six students and letting the entire school population see the after effects. Then, let them all know that you are only receiving one detention, and that, huh, has anyone seen McGonagall? Is she really in the infirmary with the other boys?

Oh, yes. It was good to be back.

----------------------------------------------------------------

_There was an incident_.

Bill frowned as he read those words, his eyes skipping back to the other letter he held in his hands, the one that bore the official Hogwarts crest.

_Dear Parent or Guardian,_

_This is a notice from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Your child/ward was recently involved in a brawl on school grounds. Being involved in such activities is against the student code of conduct and severely frowned upon and as such your child/ward, Draco Lucius Malfoy, will be serving 1 (one) detention with Professor Severus Snape, the Slytherin Head of House._

_At Hogwarts we believe that parental/guardian involvement in our student's life is a good way to insure the proper upbringing of all adolescents and we encourage you to speak with your child/ward about the events that transpired. Any comments or questions are welcomed and can be addressed to Hogwarts._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Bill put that letter down and turned to the other one.

_William,_

_There was an incident. As you have taken it upon yourself to act as Draco's guardian, I felt that you should be notified of the events that took place today. Draco was involved in a brawl at school when he was accosted by six other students who have connections to Death Eaters or the Dark Arts. He is unharmed; however, the spell he used against them in self-defense was magnified quite significantly by unsettled emotions. As Draco is more comfortable speaking with you, I felt it best if you should inquire after his well being as he is no doubt under a great deal of pressure._

_Rest assured, besides this one incident, I believe he is doing quite well._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Bill was very adept at reading in between the lines and he could piece together the story. Draco was accosted by Death Eaters or Death-Eaters-soon-to-be, and being a genius and a very powerful wizard, he had taken all of them out without injury to himself.

Bill was not worried about that part of the story. He knew that facing such adversaries would be a common occurrence for Draco, but he also knew the blond could handle himself. What was worrying was the fact that Dumbledore mentioned that the curse Draco used was fueled by emotions.

Draco did not express his feelings outwardly, and while he himself admitted that he was emotionally unavailable, that did not mean that he was unaffected by pressure or stress. He had bottled it up instead, and although he had been doing so for most of his life, something had happened to set him off, to make him slip and lose control. Draco was lucky he hadn't killed anyone.

Bill sighed, frowning as he stared at the parchment on his desk. He did need to speak with Draco about this, or rather, write to Draco, but it was hard to know what might push the boy away. Dealing with Draco was like dealing with a fine-tuned instrument. The slightest nudge could send the whole thing askew.

He settled for the blunt, honest approach, knowing that such an opening was still unfamiliar with Draco, which might throw him slightly off guard and have him reveal more than he usually would.

He picked up his quill and wrote swiftly.

_**Draco,**_  
**_I just received a letter from Dumbledore citing news of some sort of brawl and a curse that went awry. You are unharmed, right? Write back and let me know._**  
_**Bill**_

He nodded as he read the short message over. No doubt Draco would be slightly annoyed that Bill seemed to be worrying abut him, but that also meant he would feel obligated to relieve those tensions as they were of his doing. He sent the letter off by owl.

The reply came a day later as international owl mail was quite proficient, even if it was expensive. Bill didn't mind; the Ministry was reimbursing him.

He opened the letter that was addressed to him in Draco's perfect calligraphy. The ink was a dark green that was almost black and the letter was written on fine white parchment.

_Bill,  
I am unharmed, so you can stop worrying else you'll give yourself grey hair, though upon further reflection, it would no doubt be an improvement.  
The 'brawl' that Dumbledore wrote to you of did not even deserve the name. Nott started to hex me, and I was faster. End of story.  
The curse that went 'awry' was mine. I was angered by certain things that Nott said and so was not careful to keep the curse in check. While such an event is not typical of my spell work, it is a one time occurrence that is in no way a mirror of any 'inner turmoil' or unresolved conflicts that you no doubt believe I need to deal with. Tell Dumbledore I don't need a snitch next time he writes, would you?  
Draco Malfoy_

Bill didn't know whether to laugh at the letter or to groan in frustration. Being a genius meant that Draco felt he needed no looking after, that he would be equipped to handle any problems he encountered because he was able to identify and categorize them. Draco seemed to forget that he was only seventeen years old. In the Muggle world, he would still be dependent on his parents, and even most wizards and witches stayed with their parents while in apprenticeships until they were at least twenty-two.

He pulled out a piece of parchment and wrote a reply.

_**Draco,**_  
**_It seems to me you do need a Snitch, unless of course you plan on forfeiting all of the Quidditch games. And Dumbledore is merely concerned about you, which is a good thing because it stops me from worrying so much. As for a lack of inner turmoil, weren't you the one that said trying to psychoanalyze oneself leads to erroneous diagnosis because there are certain things you would disregard? I suggest that, if you don't wish me to catch the nearest Portkey to Hogsmeade to see for myself if you are alright, you might care to elaborate on why your spell went wrong. In regards to grey hair, I suppose that's one thing you won't have to worry about, seeing as your hair is so close to silver already. Take care,_**  
_**Bill**_

The response came half a day later.

_You wouldn't_.

He wrote his reply equally quickly.

_**I can catch a Portkey for tomorrow evening. Are you free then? I was thinking we might catch a cup of coffee and you can tell me what this is all about.**_

The reply was somewhat defeated.

_If you must know, Nott said some rather unsavory remarks about certain members of my family, both the legitimate and the illegitimate. As many of the students in my house are aware of my lack of certain loyalties, they have attempted to threaten me and have served to be quite the annoyance. Due to that aggravation and combined with Nott's insults, I neglected to take proper caution in insuring that my curse was separate from any agitation I may have been feeling and so the curse was amplified. I also neglected to hold the curse back to the level of others of my age, and that as well, caused the curse to cause more damage than intended._

He wrote another letter.

_**So, you snapped. It's alright to admit it, Draco; no one's perfect. Besides, shouldn't you be truthful with a friend?**_

The reply was somewhat caustic, but not derogatory.

_Very well. I, using your common slang, snapped. Happy?_

_**Very much so. Don't you feel better now that you've come to terms with that fact?**_

_I hardly believe that defining my actions in laymen's terms is about to set me onto the road of self-discovery and healing._

_**So you accept the fact that you need to heal then?**_

This reply took a little longer to come. Bill could almost picture Draco falling silent at his letter, his fingers going off in his pattern, his eyes iced over, but not necessarily in anger. He knew that if it had been anyone else who had asked, Draco would be angry, but not Bill. No, Draco liked him.

When the letter came, he eagerly ripped it open.

_I suppose. I don't think that there are any serious emotional wounds in my psyche that I need to worry about. Inconsistencies, perhaps. Areas that may need improvement, but healing, not the word I would use. And before you get all proud of yourself, I was already aware of this. Sorry. No moments of startling clarity because of your stimulating conversation_.

Bill grinned at that. No, he didn't think his letter would cause enlightenment, but he liked to be a reminder to Draco. He knew that it must take a lot of effort to actually change Draco's ways, and that if he didn't rag the Slytherin about it, Draco would merely get caught up in a hundred other things that he needed to do and wouldn't bother to help himself. Bill knew that working on Draco was much more important than anything Draco might be preoccupied with. He sent out another letter.

_**That's alright. And I'm always here to help.**_

That letter didn't get a reply. It didn't need one; Bill could already picture the eye roll accompanied by a sneer and a slight shake of the white-blond head, and he just smiled.

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Next chapter is up sooner, I promise. And as I was in a car accident, you all have to be nice and review. Ha!


	11. Of Dates and Dances

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, although I do own a really sore hand from writing this huge essay for a theology test. It figures that I said I would update on Mondays forgetting about the huge exam which I pulled an almost all-nighter for. But, I shall stave off sleep, until this chapter is up for you amazing reviewers.

However, because of lack of sleep, I am replying to specific reviews, not all cuz I need to go to bed.

**Kasiuke**: yeah, I was driving through a snow storm on the highway and off-roaded into a tree. The car isn't exactly living, but it will be soon. Thank you for your concern and review!  
**Lilith**: ooo, I love the French language, and the 'snap, crackle, pop' comment, lol.  
**GREMLIN**: lol, I'm happy I wasn't maimed too!  
**Sabireru**: Yes, they will find out, but not soon.  
**Drewberry**: yeah, I was freaked. I didn't stop shaking until three hours later, lol.  
**Spyrit**: It's a good thing to make people laugh, well, as long as they're no laughing at you I suppose….  
And thanks to: Bena24, Anna, R2D2, Wolf, nomanslander, dbi626, slickslytherin

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_**That's alright. And I'm always here to help.**_

Draco read Bill's letter and rolled his eyes, a sneer painted on his face and he shook his head ever-so-slightly. Really, the Gryffindor was too…good. It was sickening.

He looked up as Hermione came through the dormitory door and stalked up to him, hands crossed across her chest.

"The Halloween dance," she said.

Draco groaned. Speak of sickening…

"None of that," scolded Hermione, sitting in her armchair and pulling out a notebook. "It's a week and a half until Halloween and we need to let people know what the theme is going to be so they can get costumes during the next Hogsmeade trip."

"I hate dances," said Draco.

"Stop whining. Do you at least have any ideas for a theme?"

"Halloween?" asked Draco, just to be difficult because he really wasn't any good at this type of thing.

"Real cute," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "Come on, something romantic. You've had enough girlfriends to be able to do romantic."

"I didn't do the romantic; I did the girls," said Draco bluntly.

Hermione looked shocked at the crude words and Draco sighed.

"Well, what do you think is romantic?" he asked.

Hermione thought for a minute. "Flowers, chocolate, Casablanca, Gone with the Wind, Romeo and Juliet, Cupid and Psyche, going out to the movies, long walks on the beach and what not. It's not really Halloweenish, though. I suppose we could do a Shakespeare themed party, at least that way people could dress up."

Draco shook his head. "Generalize it," he said. "Romeo and Juliet is thought to be romantic because their families were enemies, or 'opposites', so have an opposite themed night."

Hermione looked intrigued. "That would work," she said. "You could have a fairy and a knight, a princess and a peasant, or even simple things like night and day, black and white, the moon and the sun. I like it."

"Muggle-lover and Death Eater," muttered Draco.

That earned him a dark look from Hermione and he shrugged apologetically.

"So, are we good now?" he asked.

"Not nearly," she said. "We have to plan the menu and decorations and music and what not."

"I came up with the idea though. Isn't that good enough?"

"No," said Hermione. "Now, help me think. What are some good snacks to have at this thing?"

It took far longer than Draco would have liked. He never really enjoyed parties all that much and planning one was even worse. He figured that working with Hermione Granger just took it one step further. She was a perfectionist and every little detail had to be planned.

Draco went to bed at one o'clock that night, only to get up at five so that he could add another ingredient to the Veritaserum that had to be stirred in with the first rays of dawn.

Snape snorted at his haggard appearance and choice of clothing, his loose cotton pajama pants and a black sweater, but Draco really wasn't planning on running into anyone.

"Should I inquire about your apparel or not?" he asked, pushing the cutting board over to Draco and letting him slice the dragon fly wings into miniscule bits.

"Granger and the Halloween Dance," said Draco wryly.

"Ah," said Severus. "My sympathies then."

Draco could only nod his head to that; as Head Boy he had to attend the dance and he was not looking forward to it. He changed the subject.

"I understand that the Death Eaters have been lying low," he said.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Do you expect me to answer?" he asked. "I believe that Dumbledore said if you wished to ask any more questions of me, he was to be present."

"I am aware of the same things you are," said Draco. "I just wanted your opinion of it."

"And how are you aware of the happenings of the Death Eaters?" asked Snape.

Why else would I join a Ministry run operation except to keep tabs on them? thought Draco, aside from the fact that Bill asked him to, of course.

"I have sources," said Draco.

"Then I suggest you consult those sources and not me," said Snape. "I work for the Order, not for you."

"You mean you work for Dumbledore."

"If I had meant that, I would have said it."

"You tend not to say things you mean."

"And in this instance you aren't reading between the lines properly."

"You don't like most of the Order members. I can hardly see you admitting that you work for them."

"I work _with_ the Order members _for_ the Order and for the same goal."

"Even though you don't get along with them."

"It is not necessary that we be the best of friends."

"But it must put some strain in the ranks, to work with them and them with you."

"It is as you say."

"And personal grudges aren't enough to keep you from the Order?"

Snape reached out and jarred the cutting board, just as Draco brought the knife down to cut. The blade slid over his finger, drawing a thin line of blood.

Draco dropped the knife and immediately pulled his hand away so he wouldn't contaminate the ingredients. He looked up at the Potions Master, eyes cold.

"Why did you cut your finger Draco?" asked Snape, calmly checking the dragonfly wings for any traces of blood.

"You jarred the board," said Draco.

"It couldn't be helped. There was a fly near the board and I had to ward it away so it wouldn't taint our potion. So again, why did you cut your finger?"

"Because you didn't tell me you were going to move the board."

"Exactly. No, I do not get along with all of the members of the Order, in fact, I get along with precious few of them. That, however, does not mean a thing. If we had been making another potion with poisonous ingredients that cut of yours could have been fatal, just as in my field of operation, a simple motion, such as the jarring of a board, could lead to death. We are working together to do something much more important than a mere potion, and because of that, personal grudges are set aside, and we do not make little slips out of spite. We have occasional spats during the meetings, but that is all."

Severus dumped the dragonfly wings into the cauldron just as the first rays of light spilled through the tiny windows that lined the top of the wall and stirred three times before setting the ladle down and looking at Draco.

"I trust that I have successfully answered the real question you were going to ask?"

He had. Draco wondered how Snape had known personal grudges were one of the reasons he wasn't keen on joining the Order. He wasn't about to join a group of people who hated his father, only to be sold out for a moment's revenge.

"I could have done without the object lesson," he allowed.

Snape smiled thinly. "But this way it is much more effective. Is there anything else you wished to ask?"

Draco shook his head, but then stopped. "Is it worth it?" he asked.

"I make much more of a difference in combining my efforts with others than I would hosting my own personal vendetta, so yes, small cuts on the finger I can bear."

Draco nodded. "Thank you, Professor," he said.

"I'll see you in Potions," said Snape. "And no bleeding during class, so get that finger fixed."

Draco nodded again and left to go get ready for class.

From the excited talk about the posters that Hermione and Draco had put up the day before, the theme of opposites was going to be a hit and already girls were discussing costumes with their less than enthusiastic boyfriends. Draco decided he would be most relieved when this whole thing was over.

Draco was not planning on taking anyone to the dance. He was going to show up, like his position demanded him to, and then he would leave to work on more translations with the Persian runes, seeing as he really hadn't had the opportunity to study them as much as he would like. At least, that was the plan until Ginny Weasley knocked on the dorm door Wednesday evening.

Draco was writing his Charms essay by the fire and had called out 'Come in' almost absently and then Ginny had appeared in the doorway with an enraged expression on her face.

Draco had not been expecting that and he had looked at the girl curiously.

"Is Hermione here?" Ginny asked, or rather, demanded.

"No," said Draco.

Ginny muttered an expletive under her breath that made Draco raise his eyebrow and then the girl was running a hand through her disheveled, tangled hair and looking as if she was about to cry. Draco grew somewhat alarmed because although he was a genius, he was a perfectly normal teenaged boy when it came to certain things, such as crying females.

"Do you want me to see if I can find her for you?" he asked, not because he cared but because he was looking for an excuse to get out of the room.

"No, it's fine. I'll just wait for her," said Ginny, sitting on the couch and grabbing at one of the throw pillows, clutching it tightly.

Draco sat on the edge of his seat, his fingers running rapidly through his pattern. What the hell did one do in the presence of a near-tears girl?

Ginny looked over at him and laughed, wiping at her eyes and taking a breath. "It's alright," she said. "I'm not going to burst into tears so you don't have to look so terrified."

"I'm not terrified," Draco said quickly, but Ginny laughed again.

"You looked like my brothers do whenever I start crying. The whole 'shit, what the hell do I do with the emotional female?' look."

"I resent that statement Weasley," said Draco, sitting back now that the red-headed girl looked calmer.

"No offense meant," said Ginny. She settled back and then immediately started blinking back tears again. She sat up suddenly. "Bloody hell," she said, scrubbing at her face. "I don't even know why I'm just sitting here with you like this. I just really need to talk to Hermione because," here there was a pause so she could sniff and blink some more, "there was this guy, Timmy Redding, and we sort of liked each other last year, but he wanted to wait until we were both older so that 'the relationship could last'."

Here Ginny laughed. "I can't believe I fell for that line. Honestly, what guy is _that_ concerned with the future of a relationship at sixteen? Anyway, so we started dating this year, and he took me out a few times and we were going to go to the ball together, but guess who I found shoving his tongue down April Summer's throat in the library?"

Draco figured that question was rhetorical, so he just watched as the youngest Weasley ranted, her hands moving about for emphasis. The motion was rather fetching.

"And, I mean, they weren't even in the Charms section or the love potion section, which has an element of class. No, they were in the botanical section under the 'Organic Fertilizer' sign. And to think that I was actually going to go out with him. I mean, that practically screams trash right there, that and his whole 'I want to wait until we're both older so this relationship can last'. As if. You know what that translates into? Do you know what that means in guy speech?"

"I want to wait until your old enough to give me a good time in the sack?" asked Draco.

"Yes!" said Ginny. "That's it exactly and me, Ginevra Weasley, sole relationship advisor for all sixth year girls, fell for a cliché line from a pretty face."

She smacked her forehead in self reproach and flopped back onto the couch, squeezing the pillow tightly.

"I mean," she said, "his initials alone should have clued me in. Timmy Redding, Tom Riddle. Hello! Wake up Ginny and read the flashing neon lights."

Draco raised his eyebrow at the reference to the Dark Lord by his real name. He wasn't aware that it was really a well known fact, and he was surprised that a mere sixth year girl would have the gall to drop it like a passing reference to the Weird Sisters.

"Anyway," she said, "I need Hermione for some girl time and chocolate. So, aside from the sobbing wreck of a girl upsetting your study time with tears and drama, how has your day been?"

It was surprising how much Ginny seemed to be like Bill at that moment, having the ability to keep him completely off guard like that, not only by the abrupt subject changes, but by the fact that she actually seemed interested in his answer.

"Passable," he said.

"Pun intended?" she asked.

Draco blinked.

"Passable, as in 'alright' but can also be a referral to school grades?" she prodded, and then she laughed. "Never mind, I forgot who I was dealing with for a minute there."

Draco frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you're the 'Ice Prince' and all. It means you don't crack jokes and you only find pleasure through the suffering and torture of innocent first year students," she said. "Everyone knows that."

"Yes, well unfortunately my position as Head Boy prevents me from engaging in my usual pastimes so I have to find my amusement somewhere else," he said dryly.

"Such as writing charms essays, of course," she said, gesturing to his book and parchment.

"Such as listening to the woes and tears of certain Gryffindor sixth year girl. Not quite as satisfying as the sobs of first years, but it will have to do."

She laughed again. Obviously it was some sort of a habit with her, laughing that is, but the sound wasn't grating to listen to.

The door opened then and Hermione came in with an armful of books.

"Ginny, what are you doing here?" the older girl asked.

"I need chocolate and tissues," said Ginny.

Hermione 'awwed' and put the books down and together the girls ascended the stairs, Hermione's arm around the shorter girl's shoulders.

Draco settled back once Granger's door had shut and tried to pull his mind back to the essay.

He had completed his essay and was starting to look over his rough schematics of the counter to the Veritaserum when Ginny came back down. Instead of leaving, however, she walked over to Draco and stopped in front of him.

"I have a proposal for you," she said.

He didn't even look up at her, but shifted the pages he was reading. "Shouldn't you be on one knee then?"

"I can go on two knees if you say yes," she said.

He jerked his head up at that. Did the girl honestly realize what innuendo she had just laced into her words?

He met her amused look that told him, yes, she was quite aware of what she just said.

"That was purely to get your attention and should not be taken seriously," she told him.

"I should hope not," he said. "Whatever would your brother say?"

"Ron?" she asked. "Well, what he doesn't know can't hurt him."

He was actually thinking of Bill. Did he realize that his little sister was talking like that?

"True," he assented, "now do continue. I have things that require my attention."

"Go to the Halloween Dance with me."

Draco blinked and then silently cursed the girl for constantly surprising him.

"Pardon?" he asked, just to stall for time because he had no idea how to react to this. The shock of having none other than Ginny Weasley ask him to the dance had startled him enough to put his thoughts in a jumble and he was desperately trying to straighten them out.

"Go to the dance with me," Ginny repeated. "You aren't going with anyone and my date cheated on me. I want to go to the dance with a hot guy just to make him jealous."

"Is that an attempt at flattery?" asked Draco.

"No, just stating the facts," said Ginny. "You'll know when I resort to flattery."

"And you think that I'm going to say yes because you think I'm 'hot'?"

"No. You're going to say yes because if you go with me you won't have to wear a costume."

Draco put his papers down and stared up at the girl. "And how's that?"

"I figure us going together is enough of an opposite," she said.

"A Weasley and a Malfoy?" he asked.

"I was thinking more along the lines of Muggle-lover and assumed Death Eater, but I figured that wouldn't really be politically correct."

He raised an eyebrow at that, and Ginny shrugged again.

"I'm going to dress up. I've got a really nice looking dress, so I figure you could just wear your school uniform and then we've got another opposite theme, a Malfoy not dressing up and a Weasley going over the top."

"It does have a certain appeal," he allowed.

"My dress also had some gold, so if you wore something green or silver then we have the whole Gryffindor and Slytherin theme going on as well."

He actually considered it, which surprised him, but he shook his head. "Not interested."

"Not interested in me or in going to the dance?" she asked.

"Both."

"Not good enough."

"What?"

"I said that's not good enough. At least come up with a good excuse besides 'I'm not interested'."

He sighed. "Fine. One: you are the Weasley brat. If I went with you there would be numerous attempts on my life by your violence happy brother. Two: I have a reputation to maintain, as do you. Three: It would be a trying experience for both of us. Four: I don't like dances. Five: I like older women. Is that good enough for you?"

"Are you going to listen to my reason now?"

"Your reasons?"

"The ones why you should go to the dance with me."

Draco bit back a groan of frustration. "No," he said, and raised his rough copy of the Veritaserum counter, prepared to go back to his work. To his surprise, Ginny grabbed them from his grasp and held them behind her back.

"Weasley, give them to me," said Draco.

"Not until you listen to my reasons."

Draco clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. "Fine."

She smiled. "Good. First of all, the idea that you are afraid of my brother is ridiculous, so there is no way that fearing your life is an excuse. As for upholding reputations, you have your reputation as a sex god to uphold, and going to the dance without a date is not going to help that at all. As for the idea that I have a reputation, well, I have an ex to get even with. And it won't be a trying experience because it's not like we have to be glued to each other's side, and it doesn't really matter if you don't like dances because as Head Boy, you have to go. Finally, a dance is a great place to meet your 'older women', and they'll like it even more if I'm with you."

"How do you come to that conclusion?" asked Draco.

Ginny shrugged. "I've had enough boyfriends to know that I'm pretty, and when I'm dressed up I can be quite good looking. Girls like it when men, who have hot dates, talk to them instead. You're one of the youngest boys in your grade, so you should be able to find some girls who are at least a few months older than you at the dance."

Draco was grudgingly impressed that the girl had a point, or rather, a few of them.

"Well?" she asked expectantly, tilting her head to the side and putting her hands on her hips.

Draco rolled his eyes, just to show that he wasn't interested. "Fine. I'll go with you."

"Good," said Ginny. "Meet me at the Gryffindor dorms at seven-ten on Friday. I want to make an entrance."

"Don't expect flowers, or anything else along those lines."

"Of course not. If you did, people might actually think you cared. Good night."

"Can't really say it has been."

She laughed. "Careful there, Draco. What about those reputations you were talking about? I don't think cracking jokes is really conducive to your aloof persona."

"I was trying for sardonic."

"You should try keeping a straighter face then. No one can take you seriously when you keep smiling like that."

She was teasing him, her hazel eyes bright as she did so and her long hair catching the fire light, throwing off glints of gold and scarlet. She looked quite alluring.

"I believe I mentioned that I had things to do. Certain things that you are still in possession of," said Draco pointedly, because he was angry with himself for thinking of the Weaselette as 'alluring'.

She handed over the papers without looking at them, and Draco found his impression of her rising a point at her respect for his privacy.

"Well, 'til the dance then," she said.

"'Til then," Draco agreed, nodding at her and then returning to his papers. He waited until she turned around and was walking to the door, and then looked up, frowning at her slight figure. He didn't understand her. The door closed behind her and he went back to his work.

"You and Ginny then?" asked Hermione.

Draco whipped his head around to see the Head Girl on the stairs, eyebrows raised.

"How long have you been there?" he asked, trying to appear unaffected.

"The whole time," said Hermione. "I didn't think you would say yes."

"Neither did I," said Draco.

Hermione studied him critically. "I suppose it goes without saying that if you toy with her, I will shove an entire deck of Exploding Snap cards down your throat?"

"First off, the idea of 'toying' with a Weasley is repulsive, secondly, there are no emotions involved, Granger. She wants back at an ex and I plead temporary insanity."

"Don't see why. You seem to get along with her."

"I _what_?"

Hermione shrugged. "What do you call bantering back and forth with each other?"

"Bantering is not a basis for 'getting along'."

"It is when the only other thing you do is sneer and insult. I say bantering is a definite step up."

"Go to bed, Granger. You're tired and not thinking clearly."

"Doesn't that describe you more? You just agreed to go to the dance with Ginny Weasley."

Draco grimaced, already regretting the decision, but he wouldn't back out, not now.

Hermione saw the grimace and was kind enough to leave without another comment at his expense. Draco waited until she was back in her room with the door shut before pulling out a piece of parchment. He hesitated before writing swiftly.

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Bill had just returned from meeting with his contact when he saw the letter lying on the desk, having been dropped off by an express owl. He immediately recognized the perfect calligraphy and quickly pulled off his coat. He took the letter into his small den, sitting in his easy chair and then settling back, peeling open the seal. He could tell that Draco had been troubled, even before reading the contents, because the paper was indented slightly where the still-perfect calligraphy graced the parchment. It seemed Draco had pressed a little too hard with his quill when writing. Bill frowned and read the message.

_**Bill,  
I'm taking your sister to the Halloween dance.**_

Bill blinked at the sentence, trying to take it in. He read it again, this time noticing the abruptness and realizing that Draco seemed just as shocked as he was. He read it over again, just to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. They weren't; he continued reading.

**_And before you get all protective, she asked me, and no, I have no idea what possessed her to do so. Does your family have a history of mental diseases?  
From what I understand, her boyfriend cheated on her and she wished to show him up, although her choice for escort is somewhat baffling to me._**

As I have no doubt that such shocking news will soon travel through a family such as yours, I thought it best to reassure you that I have no intentions whatsoever on your sister. It is only because I am, as Head Boy, forced to attend the dance, that I even considered taking your sister and it is only because she refused to take 'no' for an answer that I said 'yes'.

As the dance is on Halloween, now is the best time to inform me of any rules and/or guidelines that older brothers have for the companions of younger sisters, such as a curfew and ban on alcoholic beverages, assuming, of course, that you have no objections to your sister being in the company of a Slytherin, Malfoy, and assumed Death Eater for the evening. I do not believe that I have to remind you that, as of now, I am not in good graces on any side of the current factions, or that such ramifications should also be taken into account.

_**Perhaps you should write to your sister.**_

Draco L. Malfoy

Bill put the letter down once he had finished reading it and made himself a cup of tea. He then took the letter into his small den and made himself comfortable on the sofa. He read the letter again.

It almost seemed as if, towards the end, Draco was trying to ask him to talk Ginny out of going to the ball with him.

Like hell Bill was doing that.

For one thing, there was no way Bill wanted his little sister's dance ruined by a cheating boyfriend, and he was all for Ginny showing him up. Draco didn't seem to be aware of it, but he was a good-looking kid, more so than good-looking, especially now that his hair was no longer shaggy and that his wardrobe no longer consisted of all black. While he knew Draco would ever be the typical male's dream of rippling muscles, chiseled features, and with a rugged look, and although Draco's pale skin and hair was a contrast to the 'dark' part in tall, dark, and handsome, he was still perhaps one of the best looking students in the school. He had more of a beauty to him, than a 'cute' or typically masculine look, and while being beautiful may not be popular for teenaged boys, there was a magnetism about the pale features than drew attention to him. So yes, although Draco didn't realize it, Bill had no doubt that Ginny would show up her cheating ex very nicely.

Secondly, Bill did not want his sister to find a typical rebound guy. While Ginny was extremely level-headed, he was still reassured knowing that she would be going to the dance with a boy who would not put a move on her. Bill knew that Draco would be a perfect gentleman to his sister because he had told Bill in the letter that he would be. Draco did not break his word, and besides, he had told Bill last year that he did not get involved with girls like Ginny because they were innocent, and he didn't want to ruin that.

Lastly, he knew that Draco, in being a gentleman, would see that Ginny had a good, safe time. Although Draco was cold around the edges, and he could be down-right manipulative and calculating at times, without seeming to care for anyone around him, he was not intentionally cruel just to take pleasure out of someone else's pain. After all, Draco's mother cheated on his father constantly, he was sure to be kind to Ginny. Not only that, but Ginny was Bill's little sister, and Draco knew, first hand, how protective Bill could get.

Bill winced slightly when he remembered the row between him and Draco, and how he had acted, nearly pushing Draco right back to Voldemort. He could only be thankful that Draco had heard him out. He pulled his thoughts back to the situation at hand. Draco was taking Ginny to the dance.

Bill was honestly fine with it.

He would write a letter to Draco of course, and play the role of concerned older brother, just to make sure Draco wasn't too short with Ginny at the dance. He wanted her to have a good time.

He sat back, intending to finish his tea and then write a reply, but then another owl flew in with a letter.

This one, he could tell by the slanted writing, was from Ginny.

_Bill,  
Don't freak_.

He wasn't going to. He had a feeling he knew what this letter was going to say.

_Promise?  
Good.  
I'm going with Draco Malfoy to the Halloween Dance._

_Before you go all over-protective, you should know that I asked him. I even debated with him why he should go to the dance with me and he finally gave in when he realized I wasn't going to accept a 'no'._

_No, I haven't lost my mind. Actually, I probably could plead temporary insanity because I found my boyfriend snogging another girl in the library. There is no way I'm going to let him ruin the dance for me, so I found a hot substitute, and yes, Draco is hot._

_You should also know that he's not a Death Eater. I mean, his name wasn't with the rest of sixth years who took the mark, and he has a Half-Blood niece that he cares for, and Dumbledore did put him in the Head Boy position, which means that Dumbledore trusts him. Besides, he's actually been tolerable this year and, don't forget, he did save my life last year._

_So, now that you know, do you think you could run some damage control for me once Ron sees me and Draco at the dance together? I'm not telling mother, or anyone else, but Ron will no doubt write directly to mother after the dance. _

_Thanks. I owe you one._

_Your favorite sister,  
Ginny_

_p.s. And don't you dare write him to tell him to behave, or to keep his hands off, or whatever it is you overprotective brother's write to dates for their younger sisters._

Bill thought for a minute how he should respond. While he needed to respond as if he didn't know Draco, and as if he was wary of the boy, he didn't want to turn Ginny off of Draco. He sighed and sipped his tea. When did his life get so complicated?

He set down the tea and started to get up for some parchment. The Floo flaring into life interrupted him and immediately he spun around, even though the Floo was warded against any people not involved in the operation.

Bill's contact, the man doing all of the spy work, stepped out. He was a young Frenchman by the name of Michael, though no surname was given. Bill even doubted that 'Michael' was Michael's real name, but he wasn't going to pry, not when he understood the need for secrecy. It was Michael's job to hang out in the pubs and unsavory gathering places, listening and asking for pertinent information. He couldn't be known by his true name.

"There was a break in," said Michael. "At the National Museum of Magic. Right now the officials are calling it a break-in by some jewel thieves, but word on the street is that it was Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters?" asked Bill. "Why would Death Eaters want to break into a museum?"

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So, there's some D/G for you D/G lovers, and there will be more next chapter because that's the dance. However, after that, the D/G tones down a bit. Sorry folks, that's just the way it goes. Please leave a review on your way out.


	12. An Unexpectedly Enjoyable Night

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own fresh, new roommates, which means fresh, new roommating problems (sigh).

**Spyrit**: Your reviews are fun to reply to because you give me lots to work off of. Some are just like 'good job', so all I can say is 'thanks', but with you I can say 'Yup, you reviewed before Lilith, no, sorry, Bill is happily married and would not want to take Draco to the dance, and thanks for asking about theology, I've got the final coming up, but I did real well on the last test (SQUEE!)'. lol, it's always great to hear from you, and as usual, thanks for reviewing!  
**Wolf**: You're on the right track. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Bena24**: Glad you still love it, thanks!  
**The****Unknown** **Factor**: yeah, they are pretty alike. Thanks!  
**RekkaKouyuu**: Yeah, there's a bit more D/G, but after that, it'll tone down a lot. I hate the 'jump into your arms' romances too.  
**Sanjs**: lol, thank you very much, I'm glad you're enjoying it so much  
**Freyalyn**: lol, well don't have to worry about driving cuz my car's in the shop for quite awhile still, but I promise to be extra careful until the stories done. Thanks!  
**Lilith**: Um, so that comment about the eggs thing? Hilarious. I have friends who say the exact same thing so I know that it's like the highest compliment ever, so thank you. As for Draco, I promise, I shan't kill him, so you can breathe easy. Thanks for reviewing, even if you did have to wait.  
**Influenza**: I promise, the D/G will be over after this chapter for a while, so breathe easy. Thanks for reading and reviewing despite the pairing!  
**Drewberry**: Now that you mention it, it has been an extremely busy school year, but writing the fics helps me to relax. I think it's therapeutic. Thanks!  
**Faith**: Well, the insurance is paying for most of the car, but it'll be awhile til I'm back behind the wheel…that might be a good thing now that I think of it, lol. Thanks!  
**EER**: yup, D/G gone after this chapter for a while, and it would be way too soon for Draco to be in a relationship, he has too many issues to work out. Thanks!

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Draco leaned against the wall in the Great Hall watching Ginny Weasley dance with a group of her friends. More than a few boys were looking her way, but she seemed oblivious to the attention. She was too caught up in jumping up and down to the heavy beat of the newest hit by Merlin's Stone that was blasting out of synchronized crystal balls, the wizard equivalent of the best Muggle sound system there was. She was also yelling the lyrics out with the rest of the students, well, he was pretty sure she was yelling the lyrics out because her mouth was moving along to all the words, but there were so many people singing along, it was hard to tell.

The Halloween Dance seemed to be a hit so far, something he knew that as Head Boy he should be proud of, but he didn't really care. After all, he had only gone because he had to, and he had only gone with Ginny because she wouldn't let him say no.

He admitted that she hadn't been a trying date at all, which he was thankful for. He had picked her up at the Gryffindor Common Room when most of the other students had already gone down. It was partly so that their arrival together was a surprise, and partly because she still hadn't told Ron.

Laney had seen them both off, as only fourth years and up could attend the dances, and she had giggled at Draco's hair before giving him a kiss goodnight. She had wanted to stay up until they came back, but Draco wasn't going to allow it. The dances tended to run late.

Ginny was wearing a dress more suited to a night at the opera, not a Halloween dance. The dress was a black halter-top, with gold lining forming the straps and then following the modest neckline where it crossed and then continued to the back, where the dress turned daring. There was no back to the dress, the gold lining following the dress to the base of Ginny's spine, revealing ivory skin with a scattering of freckles. The dress itself hugged Ginny's form, accentuating her slight curves to their best advantage, and a slit in the front showed off glimpses of her right leg.

He was wearing a pair of faded black trousers, and a school-issued white oxford with the sleeves rolled up, but not so much that his lack of the Dark Mark showed. He wanted to keep his allegiance his own business for as long as possible. The shirt was also unbuttoned at the collar, and his Slytherin school tie was loosened and badly knotted. He wore ordinary black trainers on his feet, and his hair was completely mussed and looking very much as if he had just gotten out of bed.

Together, and dressed as they were, they had completely embodied the opposite theme, and the shock of their appearance together had created quite a stir, especially as they had made their entrance fashionably late. Ginny had been quick to reassure her friends that she and Draco were not dating, although Ron had been beside himself. It took Harry, Hermione, and Lavender Brown to get him to walk away without launching himself at Draco, and that was only because Ginny threatened to tell their mother about a certain 'pool' incident. Draco didn't want to know.

Once they had made a circle around the room, Ginny had gone off to dance with her friends, and Draco was quite relieved not to be pulled in. He knew that if she had asked him to dance, he would have said yes. Bill had written him and told him to make sure that Ginny had the best night of her life. He had told Draco that Ginny had written him as well, and that she was also writing him later that night to tell him how her night had gone, so he had better behave. That was only part of the reason Draco was keeping an eye on her. The other was that Draco was honestly intrigued by her, and she did look quite pretty.

"Draco," greeted Blaise, coming to stand by him.

Draco nodded to the other boy, his eyes still on Ginny's group, making sure that the girl was still having fun.

"You're looking very un-Malfoyish," said Blaise. "I particularly like the hair."

Draco cast an eye over Blaise. "A dog?" he asked.

"Sarah's a cat," said Blaise, gesturing to a girl with cat ears talking to a group of friends by the punch table.

"Ravenclaw, right?" asked Draco.

"When are you ever wrong?"

"Almost never."

The two seventh years were silent, surveying the crowd which had gone from a rock-and-roll frenzy to a hip-swaying, arm-waving, and occasionally grinding mass as the song switched over.

"So, Ginny Weasley?" asked Blaise.

"We're not dating."

"I should say not. You'd bore the girl to death."

Draco shot Blaise a look. He shrugged.

"I mean, Drake, you are just standing here. Shouldn't you be dancing with her?"

"We're not involved. She needed an escort because her boyfriend cheated on her, and I was going anyway."

"So, not involved."

"Isn't that what I just said?"

Blaise shrugged again. "She's hot."

Draco shot him another look, this one somewhat threatening.

"Hey," said Blaise, raising his hands. "I'm just saying. And she's a fun girl, good grades, plays Quidditch. What more could you ask for?"

"If you're so enamored, why don't you ask her out yourself?"

"Nah. She's a bit too much for me, too fiery."

"And I'm a good match for fiery now, am I?"

"Opposites do attract," said Blaise.

"True with magnets, not people."

"I forgot I'm talking with a cynic."

Draco didn't respond. What was the point? He knew that his realistic view on love was seen as cynical to those who wanted to believe in the 'perfect match' and all that other fantastical notions on relationships. He had yet to see an instance when such romantic idealisms proved true. Well, besides Bill and Fleur.

Sarah waved Blaise over, and Draco was once again left to watch the crowd, or rather, the red-headed girl in the crowd. He didn't mind the self-imposed solitude.

Ginny made her way off of the dance floor a few minutes later, fanning herself from the heat of the tightly-packed bodies. He let her get her own cup of punch and come up to him. He was making sure she had a good time, not doting on her.

"I hate this song," she said, making a face at the music. She jerked her head towards a group of chairs. "Come sit with me for a little bit."

He watched her turn and then mentally shrugged, following Ginny and sitting in a chair across from her. A few strands of hair had worked themselves loose from her sleek French twist, and they formed tight curls that framed her face. She batted them away and tried tucking them behind her ears, but they weren't quite long enough.

"Your ex has his eye on you," said Draco, just to let her know.

She groaned. "I told him we were split up a week ago. What doesn't he understand about we're not together anymore?"

"So you did tell him before today," said Draco. He had wondered why the boy hadn't made a scene when they had entered together, and he had figured that she had already told him, but still, he was surprised she hadn't gone for the big scene. While he personally did not like to display his private affairs in public, he did not think that public demonstrations in such cases as cheating were unmerited. He was curious to the reason why Ginny had not created such a scene with her ex, but wasn't going to inquire to her reasoning. A question might appear as if he was interested, so he contented himself with just the statement.

She shrugged. His eyes were drawn to her bare shoulders and he quickly averted his gaze.

"I was going to," she said, "but I couldn't help think that I would be sinking to his level by doing that, you know? And in this whole, messed-up, complete failure of a relationship, I want to know that I was the one who behaved in a mature, rational manner."

Draco raised an eyebrow, impressed at the reasoning, but not going to say so.

"What does that look mean?" she asked.

"Pardon?"

"The raised eye-brow. You must be thinking something, so what is it?"

"I didn't know that you were interested in what I thought."

"I am when it applies to myself."

"And you believe that I was thinking about you."

"I made a comment, you raised an eyebrow. I think it is safe to say that you were thinking about my remark, and I wish to know what you thought."

"You don't appear to care what others think about you. Why are you so curious now?"

"I actually do care what people think, just not about the trivial things. I care if people think I am being mean, or unsociable, but I don't allow their thoughts of what I wear or what I look like to dictate my actions. I only allow a select few people to comment and affect my wardrobe and what not."

"And you would change if they didn't like what you are wearing?"

"Only occasionally, if they have a real concern, but I never let people get away with changing the subject."

Draco figured he shouldn't really be surprised that she had picked it up so quickly. Bill had also been extremely perceptive to his ruses.

"So," said Ginny, tilting her head to the side, one curl falling over her cheek. Draco resisted the urge to brush it back. "What were you thinking?"

"You honestly care?" Draco asked, redirecting the conversation yet again. She seemed to fall into it.

"Normally, not so much, but I think I'd make an exception for you. Other people don't seem to faze you at all, and I find that interesting. It would be intriguing to hear what you think because your thoughts are completely your own."

"Not entirely. Everyone is affected by other people, so the fact that I'm not influenced by others can just be that I have been so affected by an outside source that my thought patterns have solidified."

"I don't think so," said Ginny. "You don't seem to be the type that would take on any ideas or belief systems that you didn't at first check over very thoroughly before accepting them as your own."

"And you have a basis for this?"

"Naturally."

Draco waited, but she said nothing, merely giving him a small smile and taking a sip of her punch.

"And you don't feel like explaining the basis of your assumptions?" asked Draco.

"Oh, I feel like explaining, but not until you tell me what you were thinking just then. I told you I didn't let people get away with changing the subject, so now there is an incentive behind it. You spill, and I tell you how I know what sort of person you are."

"You are assuming that I care."

"Of course you care. You're a very private person and so any leak in your cool façade must be investigated in case you let more slip than you were aware of. So what were you thinking when I told you that I broke up with Tim?"

Draco was impressed, yet again. He wondered where Ginny had learned to manipulate a conversation, and from whom. While Bill was able to trick him into speaking his mind now and again, he had never done it quite as skillfully as Ginny had just done.

"Very well," he said. "I was thinking that your actions and your reasoning appeared much more advanced than any other scorned sixteen year old girl. I decided that the mature thought processes probably come with the influence of having siblings who are much older than yourself."

She raised her eyebrows at that, and he wondered if he had said something wrong because the darkness that always seemed to linger in the back of her eyes was brought forth, as if she was dwelling on it.

"So you didn't take into account life experiences," she asked, her tone some what softer, as if she was lost in thought.

"Most sixteen year old girls don't act in such a practical way, so the conclusion that the average life experiences of teenagers as affecting the thought processes to such an extent that a self-actualized logic is applied in moments of emotional turmoil cannot be considered. Hence, for an event to have such a profound difference, it would have been significantly dramatic, such as an accident or a death in the family. Such an event has an eighty-nine point four percent chance of making it into the Daily Prophet and other news sources. While I do not make it a habit of following news stories concerning the Weasley family, I am reasonably certain that I would have heard of such an event. It is therefore plausible that such an incident did not occur and rational to attribute your logic to your older siblings."

She smiled again at that, but it didn't reach her eyes. In fact, the darkness in her eyes was even more pronounced.

Draco sat back, taking in her reaction. "Your body language suggests that my theory is flawed."

"A little off the mark," she agreed, and then, "Eighty-nine point four?" Her smile reached her eyes now, the darkness once again pushed back. "Is that a fact?"

He shrugged. "I've read some studies." He wondered why he had let his genius show like that. "You have something to tell me now," he said, directing the subject to a safer area.

"Ah, yes," said Ginny. "How I know you're the type who isn't easily swayed by opinions. I suppose it's for a couple of reasons, but mainly your allegiance, or lack of one. You honestly can't get more opinions pushed on you about Muggle-born and Purebloods, and I think that you are especially in the thick of it with your family and all, yet you still remain, as far as I can tell, on your own side. My guess is you're still figuring some things out, choosing where you want to put your allegiance, and what faction is closest to what you believe is right."

It was frightening how accurate she was, so he snorted.

"You have no idea about me, do you?" he asked.

"I know that last year you started thinking for yourself, and that was when you turned down a Death Eater position."

He leaned forward, his eyes icy and hard. "How the hell do you know that?" he demanded, but softly, not wanting to attract any unwelcome attention.

She leaned forward as well, eyes somewhat amused.

"Last year you saved Harry's life on the Quidditch field. I saw the entire thing, because I was in the air too. He didn't fall into you; you caught him. Last year you trained Buckbeak, the animal that you almost had executed in third year, and you were actually on speaking terms with Hagrid. Last year you saved my life from a ghoul, set free by Death Eaters. Last year several students from Hogwarts took the Dark Mark. I know because I make it a point to listen in on rumors going on in the school. I know that you don't have one. Now, why would the only son of Lucius Malfoy not have the Mark?"

She leaned in a bit closer, and he could feel faint traces of her breath on his lips.

"Of course Voldemort would offer it to you. If he hadn't, he would have slighted a faithful and powerful follower. The only conclusion is that you denied it. That would explain why a certain niece is in your charge. The facts add up; I just happen to be one of the few who are open-minded enough to realize the truth."

She stared into his eyes, daring him to contradict her. He stared back, trying to figure her out, trying to read what it was about her that was so intriguing. She was an enigma, sparkling, radiant on the outside, but she had hidden away the darker aspects about her, the part of her that had given her such startling insight and clarity and power of manipulation. He tried to see into that darkness, but once he brushed at it, she pulled away with a smile.

"Want to dance?" she asked.

She already knew his answer; she was changing the subject. He let her, but only because he was too close to her to think objectively about her.

"No," he said simply.

She laughed. "You're not enjoying this very much, are you?"

And then she was back on the dance floor, finding her friends and twirling into step with them. Draco watched her, trying to puzzle her out, and only succeeded in confusing himself further. That also meant he was that much more curious, which meant that he was enjoying this evening more than he had expected.

His musings were cut short because Timmy Redding was making his way over to Ginny, and Draco was immediately on the alert. Any sign from Ginny that the boy was bothering her, and he was going to step in.

The music had slowed, and it became apparent that Redding wanted the dance. Draco watched Ginny shake her head, and move away. Redding followed and Draco got up, making his way to the couple.

Ginny shook her head again, obviously telling him off, and then Redding grabbed her wrist. The boy was on the floor holding his nose in an instant; the crowd around Ginny cheered as she shook out her hand.

Ginny left the dance floor, heading the opposite direction of Draco. He hesitated, wondering if he should follow, but he could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was tensed and upset, and he was here to keep an eye on her, so he followed her.

She left by the side door, into the deserted, darkened hall. He watched her cross to the window and stare out it, pausing in the doorway, before joining her, closing the door enough so that only a faint sliver of light and music spilled out of it. He had helped plan the songs, and so he knew by the slow waltz that it was the last song of the evening.

"You alright?" he asked.

She jumped, whirling around with a hand over her heart.

"Sorry," he said, the apology slipping out automatically, which was a surprise to him.

"Didn't hear you," she said obviously, trying to calm herself.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he said. "Just wanted to make sure you were alright."

She gave him an assessing look. "You're not usually this polite."

"I was raised with manners; I was just told they were optional."

She laughed. "Especially with Weasley's, right?"

Draco shrugged slightly. "You don't look much like a Weasley tonight."

This time she raised an eyebrow. "You're quite the charmer tonight, aren't you?"

"Or I could just be disguising my insults."

"True, but that means you'll have to tell me, which was it?"

"Well, your oldest brother did write me."

She groaned. "He didn't."

"He did. Said something about making sure you had a good night or he'd take back the E he gave me last year and ruin my average."

She looked extremely embarrassed and he smirked.

"He's really over protective," she said.

"So I gathered."

She flushed again, but looked him in the eye. "Does giving me a good night include a dance?"

"Do you really want to?"

"It could be memorable."

He smirked, but softer this time and held out his hands. She came over and grasped one, resting the other on his shoulder. He let his left hand fall to her waist and then guided her into a slow waltz.

He could tell, from the first few steps, that she was a dancer, and that someone had taught her very well. While he couldn't see her with a professional dance instructor, which was how he had learned, he could imagine a little red-headed girl in pig-tails stepping on her father's shoes as an old radio pumped forth the strains of a minuet. Draco wasn't one to be overly-sentimental, but the thought made his lips twitch, and for the first, he thought that being a Weasley didn't sound that bad.

He spun her out and around and she followed fluidly, never losing a beat or faltering a step, and when he brought her back in, her hand rested on his neck, and his arm was wrapped around her back.

He slowed their steps as the music gradually drew to a finish and they were left standing, her face glowing in the moonlight from the window.

The door burst open, and the torches immediately spluttered to life, lighting the hall like it was day. Laughing couples and still singing groups poured from the door, on their way up to bed.

Draco looked over at Ginny, both of them had immediately stepped back when the door opened, and the hordes passed them, leaving only a few tired stragglers.

"I'll walk you back to your room," he said, and Ginny nodded.

The walk back up was made in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

"Thank you," said Ginny, once they paused in front of the portrait. "I had a good night."

He nodded, and she seemed to hesitate before sticking out her hand. "Good night," she said.

He took her hand and kissed the back of it, telling himself it was only because she was Bill's little sister.

"Good night," he said.

She flushed ever-so-slightly, and then stepped through the portrait hole.

Draco watched her leave and then swore at himself. He strode back to the Common Room, his face twisted into a cold mask as the self-incriminations flowed.

Hermione looked up when he entered.

"Did you have a good-," she started, but he was already storming up the stairs. He shut his room door with more force than was necessary, restraining himself from slamming it because Malfoy's simply didn't slam doors.

He threw himself onto his bed, running his hands through his hair and trying to calm his breathing.

He found Ginny Weasley intriguing, no, more than that. He couldn't figure her out. She toyed with his mind, acting in ways that he didn't understand, in ways that he wanted to understand, and yet, at the same time, he wanted to be confused.

He swore again and tried to shut her out, but his mind wouldn't let the image of her rest, and his thoughts kept straying to the red-headed girl. Even the analytical side of his brain, the sharp intellect that had cracked the Persian Runes, was focused on the youngest Weasley, contrasting her every move with other sixteen year old girls, forming hypotheses and breaking theories at the rate of one every three seconds.

"Stop it," he muttered, fingers digging into his temples. "Just stop it."

How many times had he told himself, he didn't get involved with that type of girl? They were off-limits. He was off-limits. It was the only way to be sure that he didn't end up like his father. He had such difficulty trusting people, that sort of betrayal would completely shatter him.

He rolled over onto his stomach, ignoring the nagging thought that Ginny Weasley wasn't that type of girl, and pulled his pillow over his head. He would stop thinking about her; he would.

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Bill Weasley sighed and rubbed his temples. It was late, and he was exhausted, but it appeared that Death Eaters didn't sleep, so he wasn't getting any either. He picked up the Auror report one more time.

On October the twenty-first there was a break in at the French National Museum of Magic.

Aurors had arrived on scene to find the jewel display from the African Ministry smashed and almost five hundred thousand galleons of precious stones and jewelry missing. The only clue to go on was a small piece of parchment dropped at the scene displaying a black cat, the signature of the group of jewel thieves.

A further investigation completed by the next day showed that the jewel display was not the only display ransacked. The Literature and Myths of the Early Magical World was also broken into, three books missing. Well, they were, for all intents and purposes, only one book, _The Averne_, owned by the Syrian king in the early centuries, but when the Syrians were under attack, the book had been ripped into three for easier transport when the castle was over run. They were priceless, in that they could never be replaced, although the content had survived in form of copies taken from their pages. Still, it was an odd grab because not many people were interested in the early myths. Why would the Black Cats be interested in old legends?

There was another inconsistency as well. The Black Cats usually targeted jewel stores or museum exhibits that just displayed the precious stones themselves. The rocks could then be cut down, but jewelry, especially such old pieces, were difficult to dismantle and easily recognized. It was a risk that the Black Cats didn't take.

Michael, Bill's contact, had confirmed that all the talk in the less-than-reputable places was that the break-in was thought to be Death Eater caused, and only set up to look like the Black Cats, but besides that, no one was saying anything else.

Bill rubbed his eyes and took a sip of his tea. He then checked the clock. It was late Halloween, and the school dance would be over by now. He wanted to know how it went and kept looking out the window for an owl. He wasn't particularly worried that Draco had misbehaved himself, or that Ginny had badgered him constantly, but Ginny was his little sister, and Draco was a close friend. He wanted to at least know that they survived the night.

He turned his attention back to the papers on the table, but he had been looking over the Aurors reports and had even looked over the crime scene himself, and there was nothing to prove that the Death Eaters were involved. There was nothing to prove otherwise as well.

The Floo burst into life and Michael stepped through. Bill immediately knew that something had happened.

"The Curator at the museum is missing."

"What?" asked Bill.

"He didn't show up to work yesterday, which no one thought was surprising because his health has been on the decline, but this morning his secretary finally called the Aurors because he hadn't been answering his phone. She was afraid he had become injured, or had a stroke or something. When the Aurors went to investigate, they found his house completely empty and signs of a struggle."

"Death Eaters?" asked Bill.

"There's no way to know," said Michael. "There's been no ransom demanded, no one taking responsibility. I'm heading over there tomorrow, to get pictures for you and the Auror report."

"Actually, I thought I might head over there myself and look around. I'm not an Auror, but maybe I could find something."

Michael shook his head. "I've got orders to keep you as hidden as possible now. Dumbledore says that recent information has been showing that You-Know-Who's been interested in a few ancient artifacts, but for right now, they don't know what he's planning, or even what artifacts he's interested in. He believes that this is indeed the work of Death Eaters, and if you're seen, well, you are on the wanted list."

Bill sighed. "I'm not doing a lot just sitting here."

"You're in charge of encrypting the information. You're doing enough; you've done enough. If I had a wife, there's no way I would be doing what you are. I'd be heading over to the States right now."

"I had a friend stay over there for a bit," said Bill. "But Fleur wouldn't let me take her away."

"She sounds like a wonderful woman."

"She is," said Bill, looking down at his wedding ring. He hadn't seen her in weeks, but he wouldn't visit her, or let her visit, until he was done. It was simply too dangerous.

"I must head back to the pubs," said Michael. "It's late enough so that the real dodgy characters will be out."

"Be careful," said Bill.

"Always."

And then Michael left, leaving Bill with a table full of papers and absolutely no useful information.

The letter from Ginny came then, a welcome distraction. He eagerly tore open the seal and scanned the contents, looking for any words of trouble, but she seemed fine. He went back and read it more slowly.

_Hey,_

_It's me, writing like a promised to let you know that I'm fine. Well, I did punch Timmy, but it was deserved. And did you have to write to Draco? I thought I told you not to. It's just a little embarrassing having your older brother write your date to 'make sure I had a good night'. _

_Well, I did have a good night, and Draco was a perfect gentleman, so don't go demanding to know exactly what he did and said. He made absolutely no moves what so ever, which actually, now that I think about it, might be a bad thing. Is he really that unattracted to me? Not that I want him to be attracted to me, but still, I would have appreciated something a little more than one dance and a kiss on the hand good night._

_And yes, it was on the hand. So don't get alarmed or anything._

_Anyway, I'm going to bed now.  
Night,  
Ginny_

Bill raised his eyebrows at the last few sentences, not exactly knowing what to think. He knew, of course, that Draco had been raised by Pureblood parents, and with a classical upbringing, and so the kiss on the hand was no more than a farewell, and Draco obviously knew that women liked such farewells, but still. Ginny was his little sister; he didn't want anyone kissing her, on the hand or otherwise.

He debated writing Draco and giving him a hard time about the kiss, but by the time the letter would reach England, it would be late, and Draco got little enough sleep as it was.

And speaking of sleep, Bill gave the papers one last look and then retired to bed himself. There would be much more to do in the morning.

He was right.

Michael returned when Bill was eating breakfast with the Auror's report, pictures taken of the curator's house, and boxes containing the contents of his desk and shelves.

Bill immediately shoved his breakfast aside and starting paging through the report, but again, like the museum, there was little to go on. He frowned, feeling a headache start to creep into his temples.

"Why would they need the Curator, if they even are Death Eaters?" he asked Michael, who was looking as frustrated as he felt.

"Who knows," said Michael. "Maybe they couldn't find what they were looking for."

"They took that one book from the Museum, right? Or the three?"

"Yes."

"Where are the copies? Maybe we can find out what they were looking for."

Michael reached under the table and pulled out three boxes filled with loose pages.

"They aren't in order," he said. "And they aren't numbered, either. They were in the storage for quite awhile."

Bill groaned, but started clearing the table. Michael opened one box and began laying the papers out.

"We'll organize them by subject first, and then see if we can't put them into chapters," said Bill.

"How long do you think this is going to take?" asked Michael.

"Longer than I would like," said Bill.

It even took longer than he thought it would because half way through, they discovered large sections written, not in the usual Latin, but in Ancient Runes. While Bill recognized most of them, he was not proficient in all of the dialects. He was mentally groaning at the amount of work when he remembered Draco.

"Alright, let's just pull out all of the bits with the runes and put them in a separate pile. I'm going to send them to a friend to sort; he knows all of these. I just hope he has time to look at them."

"Is he very busy, your friend?"

"I would imagine so. He has papers and what not to do."

"Oh, is he a professor?"

Bill looked up and laughed. "No. He's still in school."

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Woot! I just made the deadline for posting this on a Monday...cheating, I know.

Please leave a reveiw!


	13. Kidnappings and unLove Affairs

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except a brown sugar cinnamon poptart that I am eating because our college has closed down for the day. (Woot!)

**A/N**: Monday updates (laughs nervously), yeah, about those. Well, I'm actually going to change them to Tuesday updates. Why? Because I have on class on Tuesday as opposed to the four on Monday, and also Jack Bauer is on television Mondays and I am a firm believer.  
I would also like to apologize for the incredibly long wait. Because I am sorry, I will update again, **TOMORROW**! So, hopefully you will find it in your hearts to forgive me.

**Tdei**: Yeah, I have a few other slash fans who read this fic, but I just don't do slash (sry), but I'm glad you like it and thanks for reviewing anyways!  
**Freyalyn**: It is fun to mess with his head, thanks for the review!  
**Bena24**: So, there is actually a D/G conversation in this chapter, just because it fit so well, so I hope you like it!  
**Spyrit**: Hmm, has my muse been talking with you? Because you are spot on with the Persian Runes, congrats! As for Draco and his hair (sigh), I love white-blonds, and the fact that I can make his hair look anyway I want it ;-)  
**Drewberry**: I'm glad you like Bill. I always thought he was one of the cooler characters in the books. Thanks!  
**Richkid**.**draco**: Yeah, I like Draco's bed-head too, well, that is why I wrote it that way (grins). Thanks!  
**Sanjs**: I'm sorry for making you wait, especially as you have a count down in your review, but, I am posting again tomorrow, so you will only have a day to wait. Thanks!  
**QuinkyDink**: Ginny did seem mature in the books, part of the reason I've always liked her. Thanks for the review!  
**Lilith**: Did you have fun in Italy? I was in Italy a few days and loved it, but I don't speak Italian, so I was confused… a lot. And I promise that by the end of this story, I will have divulged the 'Blaise with fangs', just for you!  
**Mask**: Hey! Don't knock me singing in the mall (sticks out tongue)

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It was official. Draco was not going to be on the Quidditch team this year. While he knew it was probably for the best (he was swamped as it was) he still felt a few pangs of disappointment. No, it was more than that. He kept finding his attention drifting out of his shared common room window, where the Quidditch Pitch was just visible and he could see the teams practicing. He needed to play, or even fly, or just _something_ that would get him away from the stifling classrooms and boring homework.

He had his extra work of course; the runes and the translating and potion, but all of it took time and trial and error. There was nothing to show that he had been doing anything and the lack of results was putting a strain on him. He was restless; he needed something else to do, something with real, tangible results and for a real, important purpose.

Dumbledore brought just such a distraction with him.

Draco had been trying to concentrate on the amounts of ingredients needed for the compulsion suppression now that the Veritaserum was finished, but his eyes were locked to the window, his fingers itching to grab his broom. He was getting no where with the counter, and he knew that conceptual potions would only take him so far with the concoction. The majority of the work would be educated hypotheses with painstakingly documented trial runs. He was not looking forward to it.

The door had opened, but he hadn't paid attention because the only one who could get in without inside admittance was Hermione. He forgot that the teachers had the password as well.

He started when Dumbledore cleared his throat, and his head whipped around to spot the intruder.

"Sorry to startle you, my boy," said Dumbledore, twinkling up at him.

"Headmaster," said Draco, nodding to Dumbledore. "What brings you here?"

"Bill has sent me a request of you, but I was told not to deliver it unless you had sufficient time. William is concerned that you may be busy and he doesn't want to detract from your studies."

"I don't study," said Draco shortly. "What was the request?"

"Come with me," said Dumbledore.

Draco set down his books and parchment and followed Dumbledore out of the room. The Headmaster led him to the Room of Requirement, where there was a table set in the middle of the room, holding three boxes. Along the walls were a multitude of clips with which to hang papers. Draco raised an eyebrow and the set up.

"Bill is looking into a kidnapping," said Dumbledore.

Draco immediately knew who it must be. "The French Curator, Jean Barret, most well known for his work translating the Romany dialects and for translating the entire text of _The_ _Proeliator_ which was written in the Syrian Runes," said Draco. He had been following the story in the papers. "He was found missing a week after the museum robbery." He paused for a moment, realizing that if Bill was involved, so must be the Dark Lord. "I didn't realize it was Death Eater related. I assume then that you suspect the robbery was also Death Eater related?"

"We have no evidence as of yet, but Bill's contact says that the word on the street is that the Death Eaters were indeed the perpetrators."

Draco frowned. Since when was Voldemort interested in museum artifacts?

"Along with the jewelry taken, three books were taken, or rather, one. _The Averne_. You are familiar with it?"

"The most well-known ancient text. Originally written on scrolls during the time of the Syrian reign, but then transferred into a large tome to keep all of the information in one place under the direction of the King Avere. When the Syrian empire fell, the tome was split into three portions, one going to each of the king's mages. They were reunited in 1347, and were moved around in various displays until coming to a permanent home in the French National Museum of Magic in 1885.

"While most chapters were written in Latin, a good amount are written in different Ancient Runes, which makes it the book containing the largest number of different languages, ranging from Turkish to African runes. While it is the most famous ancient text, the chapters mainly refer to mythological beings and items, so it has been counted as merely a work of fiction and folklore."

"You are well informed."

"I saw the book on display when I was younger and was intrigued."

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore. "I often forget that you were raised in France. You converse quite fluidly in English."

Draco inclined his head in acceptance of the compliment, even though the transition had not been difficult. Trying, perhaps, and most aggravating when Lucius insisted that he lose all traces of his accent, but not difficult, not for him.

"The theft of the book was not reported in the news," he said.

"No. It was not. The French Ministry had no desire to start speculations on the robbery, especially not when the rumors of Death Eaters are already circulating."

Draco frowned slightly, already knowing that he would have to procure a copy of the Auror's report for his own investigation. He didn't trust any judgment but his own.

"And Bill requires my help in translating the copies?" Draco asked. "I should think the museum would have such translations in storage."

"The copies themselves were destroyed a few decades back in a fire. Because there was no real scholarly interest in the book, because it is regarded as a work of fiction, the museum did not hire linguists to make new translations. Instead, they merely used spells to copy the pages and put them in boxes. Unfortunately for us, the pages are scrambled. Bill wishes to know if you have the time to organize them."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You believe that the Dark Lord is interested in one of the artifacts mentioned in the book?"

"We believe that he may have found something of interest, yes."

"Even though most objects in the book are thought to be fictional?"

"There has been a reawakening of interest in mythological items ever since the discovery of Merlin's staff not twenty ago. It seems these objects might not be as illusory as was once thought. Even Horcruxes are generally thought to be mystical objects and not fact."

"If the passage needed by Voldemort was one written in Ancient Runes, then the kidnapping of the Curator is understandable, especially if the chapter was written in the Syrian or Romany dialects. Those are the two languages the Curator specialized in and they are two of the rarer runes."

"That is what we suspected."

"I take it then you would like a translation of the chapters as well as reorganizing them?"

"If you have the time."

"I do."

"I thank you for your help."

Draco nodded, already moving over to the first box. He only vaguely registered when the Headmaster left the room. Being able to translate, and hence, read the full and true account of _The Averne_ was an incredible opportunity and he pulled the first pages out almost reverently. He wondered if he could get Bill to send him copies of the chapters written only in Latin. He would like to read those as well.

He worked straight until dinner, falling into a system. He first sorted the pages due to their runes, and then, once he had the chapters separated, clipped the pages onto the walls. He then stepped back, picking a page out at random and figuring out which page followed, and which preceded it. He moved the clips about until he had the papers lined up in the right order, and then set about translating them, using a dictaquill that the room provided to write as he read out loud, translating in his head.

He worked until dinnertime, finishing two chapters and starting on the third. Normally he would have worked through dinner, but he had made it a habit of attending to make sure that Laney was well. He found her chattering happily away with a few friends, and so he allowed himself to leave early.

He managed to complete three more chapters before bedtime, and it was only when he had read over the first page of the fourth Greek dialect without making any sense of it, that he grudgingly put the papers away for the night.

Draco managed to work on the translations for a few more hours before dinner the next day, but then after eating, he had to meet with Snape in the potions room for more work on the counter to the Veritaserum.

Snape started the conversation with, "I trust you are not busy next week?"

"I have spare time," Draco allowed.

"Lupin will need his Wolfsbane next week. Miss Granger has been making it up until now but she professed a concern for her studies."

Draco nodded. "I will be able to make the potion."

"Good. Now then, how much of the blood root did you believe we will need?"

By the end of the session, they had roughly sketched the first five ingredients to be added to the counter, through much debate and theorizing. They raised their voices a few times and had never really agreed on the sixth. Both were convinced the other was wrong and were taking the week to research.

It took two days work on the translations before Draco came across something interesting. The chapter was found in the second book, written in the Syrian dialect. It detailed a cloak that was supposedly worn by Merlin, allowing him to get into any fortress or castle, regardless of the wards. The cloak was supposedly made out of a combination of thestral and faerie hair, which sounded plausible to Draco. If this cloak actually worked, then Voldemort would have no problem getting into Hogwarts.

The kidnapping made perfect sense. The Death Eaters could have heard of the cloak and stolen the books in an attempt to learn where the cloak was located. However, they couldn't have known that the chapter they needed was in the Syrian dialect. The Syrian runes are the most complex in the known Ancient Runes and the translators of the language are few and far between. The Death Eaters must have kidnapped the Curator in order for him to translate the known about a certain artifact described in the book, but the Syrian dialect was the most difficult to translate. The Death Eaters had been unable to read the description, so they had taken the Curator.

He gathered up the pages, planning on taking them straight to Dumbledore. After all, Nott had told him that the Dark Lord planned on visiting Hogwarts personally, and with this cloak, he could get in. The cloak was in Merlin's grave, or rather, the wizard's empty grave as the body of Merlin was never located.

If the Curator was stalling for time, in hopes of a rescue, then perhaps the cloak would not have been taken yet. Dumbledore could alert the guards that stood round the tomb, and perhaps even set up an ambush.

That all depended on the Curator though, and Draco didn't know many people who would dare to cross Voldemort in that way. The Dark Lord had a way of being very persuasive, and Draco didn't see an old man being willing to withstand a good bout of the Cruciatus just to stall for time.

Still, there was a chance, and so Draco found himself traveling up the staircase to Dumbledore's office with an extra copy of the translation he had made.

"Come in!" called Dumbledore, from behind the closed door before Draco had a chance to knock and he grimaced, hating the way the Headmaster always seemed to know whenever anyone arrived with no alarm system in sight. He pushed open the door to see Dumbledore sitting at his desk covered in papers and folders.

"Ah, Draco," said the Headmaster, twinkling up at him despite the overwhelming amount of work on his desk. "I doubt even a genius of your caliber has finished all of the chapters yet, so that must mean you have discovered a chapter of interest, yes?"

"You are correct," said Draco, relieved that Dumbledore was getting to the point and not engaging in frivolities or offering him a lemon drop.

"Well, then," said Dumbledore, pushing the clutter on his desk to the side. "Do tell what you have found." In clearing a space on his desk, he uncovered his jar full of lemon drops and he held up the candy. "Lemon drop?" he asked.

Draco resisted the urge to groan, and instead placed the chapter detailing the cloak in front of the Headmaster. He took a seat in one of the chintz armchairs.

"That is a chapter in the second book. I found that it references a cloak worn by Merlin that would allow him to enter any fort, regardless of what wards were placed on the structure. The cloak is located in Merlin's grave."

"And you came to the conclusion that this is what Voldemort is looking for?"

"It is the only object detailed that has a plausible history, and the chapter was written in the Syrian dialect."

"The Curator was known for his work in that field."

"It is one of the factors which lead me to believe that this is the object of interest."

"It is indeed of interest," said Dumbledore. "There have been no reports of any attempted entry at Merlin's tomb, but I shall alert them to the possibility. Is there anything else that has caught your eye?"

"I still have a few chapters to go," said Draco. "May I ask what you intend to do with the information on the cloak?"

"You feel as if more should be done than warning the guards?"

"The Dark Lord can be quite determined. I have heard that he wished to visit Hogwarts personally."

"Indeed?" asked Dumbledore.

"I am sure that you have heard the same," said Draco.

"I have, but I do have sources. I wasn't aware you had such."

"I have heard from a student with a less-than reputable association."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "And what more do you believe is necessary?"

"An evacuation plan to begin with, one that is not simply escaping through the Floo because that can be easily disconnected."

"We have several hundred students at Hogwarts."

"Then it must be a simple plan as well," said Draco.

"And you have such a plan?"

"Not in its entirety, no. But I do have a suggestion, if you aren't opposed?"

"Of course not."

Draco nodded. "The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw dorms are located closest to the lake. Should Voldemort attack during night or evening, which is most probably, those students would have the best chance of getting away safely by the boats the first years take on their first visit."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "That would be most efficient," he said.

"Of course wards would have to be placed on the boats to shield off any wayward spells, and also a few spells to keep the students inside, but it is the quickest way out."

"And of the Slytherin and Hufflepuff students?"

"There is a concealed exit that I am sure you are aware of in the dungeons. Several Portkeys could be placed just in the Forbidden Forest that the students could reach. Of course, you would have to look into setting those up, and setting up a charm to call the boats to the dock in an emergency. The teachers and prefects would also have to be informed, but it is a feasible evacuation."

"It is indeed," said Dumbledore. "I will be sure to look into it. Thank you."

Draco nodded and then stood. "There are still a few more chapters left to translate. I will let you know if I find anything else of interest."

"Again, thank you," said Dumbledore.

Draco left, walking back down to the Room of Requirement and starting the next chapter of the translations. It took him another day and a half to discern that there was nothing else of interest to Voldemort in _The Averne_. The other chapters detailed accounts of a war, and the very last was written in the second version of the Persian Runes, which no one else had translated.

Draco had been pleased to find the Persian Runes in the book, knowing that only he could decipher them, which meant he was, or would be, reading what no one had been able to read in centuries. The prospect was exciting, even if he would have to translate the fourth and third versions of the dialect before getting to the second.

Draco packed up the translations of the chapters and then had it shipped by Floo post to Bill. The owls simply wouldn't be able to hold the load.

For a day after he finished the translations on _The Averne_, he felt settled, but then he passed the Slytherin Quidditch team in the hall and the restlessness came back with a vengeance. Although he had enjoyed working on the translations, he was feeling somewhat relieved that it was finished because it had taken up all of his time and his school work was beginning to suffer. Well, not suffer, but he had fallen into the habit of simply earning E's in all of his classes because he was too busy to plan out strategic scores.

He had also been unable to find the passage he had wanted to disprove Snape's worry that adding the Ashwinder tongue before essence of Murtlap would not nullify the venom of the nundu blood. He could clearly remember every word on the page that would prove him correct, for some reason he could not picture the book title. He felt as if his brain was being pulled in too many directions.

He sighed and allowed himself to flop on the couch in his common room because Hermione was not there. He vaguely wondered where she might be, before deciding that he didn't care, and then he stretched, trying to loosen the knot in his shoulders that was the result of bending over the table translating runes for the past few days.

He sat up wearily, knowing that he needed to get started on his work, but then he glanced outside and saw the Slytherin Quidditch team practicing on the pitch. He groaned as the urge to get out there and fly washed over him again and he headed for the stairs, planning on taking a hot shower in hopes to loosen his muscles and get him to relax enough so that he could concentrate on his homework. It was then that there was a knock on the door, and because he was right there, he opened it instead of merely calling to give his admission.

Pansy Parkinson stood in the doorway, her hair pinned up in curls and make-up perfectly applied. She was wearing a too-tight, too-low deep purple shirt and an incredibly short black skirt.

Draco was surprised to see her, even more surprised when she stepped in, her hands running through his hair before forcing his head down so she could touch her lips to his. More than just touch lips. Her mouth locked onto his, her tongue delving into his mouth even as she pulled her body flush with his.

Draco managed to pull his mind back together just as she was moving her hand from his hair to his belt and he stepped back, his hands on her shoulders, keeping her away from him so he could try and think.

"What the hell?" he managed.

Pansy shrugged. "The Dark Lord wants me to seduce you."

Draco blinked. "What?"

"The Dark Lord," said Pansy, very slowly, "wants me to seduce you."

"Let me rephrase," said Draco. "Why?"

Pansy shrugged. "A few reasons. Mostly, as I am going into politics, he wants to be sure that I can play the game right and sleep my way out of a problem, or use my feminine wiles to find out certain bits of information."

"And the information he wants from me?" asked Draco.

"The usual. What are your weakness, what can he do to make you miserable, you know. He still rather angry about the stunt you pulled over last summer."

"And why are you telling me this?"

Pansy laughed. "Because there is no way I could put this past you. You're smarter than you let on, and you always seem to tell when someone lying to you. Besides, there is your general distrust of women to consider as well."

Draco though about denying that last statement, but Pansy knew him too well so he ignored it. "So you decided to tell me the truth?"

"Aren't you glad for the warning?"

"You're playing both sides," Draco realized.

"I'm trying to get through this war alive and with enough money to live comfortably. I think you're smart enough to make it through relatively unscathed, and if being honest with you endears me to you, so much the better."

"No doubt you'll want some information to give to the Dark Lord."

"Some little tidbits would be nice. They don't have to be true, just believable."

"If I am going to be looking out for you, I'm going to need to know where and when the Dark Lord's planning to attack."

"I can do that."

"Then we have an agreement."

Pansy smiled. "I love it when we're on the same side," she said, stepping closer, her intentions clear in her eyes. She snaked an arm around his neck and kissed the side of his jaw, working her way down his neck.

Draco bit back a moan. "I assume this is just merely for show?"

"No one's watching," she whispered, and then she pulled back. "Alright, so it's partly for show. Certain Slytherins have to believe that I really am seducing you. The other part is just because I've missed us together. Haven't you?"

He didn't answer; he just pulled her closer and captured her lips in a searing kiss, feeling her respond eagerly. He didn't pull back until he needed air.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Pansy gasped, forcing him back to the wall. He turned at the last minute so that he pinned her there, and then he began pulling out her hair clips so that her hair tumbled down over her shoulders.

She was fumbling with his clothes, unknotting his tie and letting it fall on the floor before turning to the buttons and Draco was trying to find the fastening to her shirt. They were both distracted by their mouths, hers was busy trying to latch onto his lips while he nipped at the sensitive hollow at her throat that made her gasp. They were also sidetracked with trying to press as physically close as possible to each other, legs intertwined and hips grinding together.

Pansy had just managed to get his shirt halfway off when the door swung open and Hermione stepped in, followed by Harry. They both pulled up short and Draco stepped back from Pansy, pulling his shirt back on at Hermione's horrified expression. Harry was beat red and looking the other way.

Hermione opened her mouth but then Pansy grabbed Draco's hand.

"I know a place," she said.

Draco followed her out the door, ignoring the scandalized, but concerned, expression of Hermione.

The place that Pansy had in mind was Trelawney's tower room, one of the more comfortable sites for extra curricular activities, and in getting there, Pansy managed to walk them by Theodore Nott. Granted, the walk involved frequent stops to pull the other close for another kiss, or to tease the other with roaming hands and groping, but they made it without incident and Draco looked the trapdoor with a particularly powerful spell, and then Pansy was pushing him onto on of the squishy chairs and pulling his shirt off again.

Draco made his way back to the Head's common room over an hour later. His shoes were untied and his shirt missing a few buttons, but he didn't pass anyone in the hall so he didn't bother to fix his hair that practically screamed 'I have just been shagged'.

He pushed open the door to find Harry still over with Hermione but Ginny Weasley had also joined them. She raised her eyebrows as he walked in, but he merely sank into his favorite armchair. He wasn't really in a mood to socialize with them, but he was exhausted, in a good way, and didn't feel like moving.

"So," said Ginny, looking him over and obviously feeling like teasing him. "How was your day?"

Draco remembered the first time she had asked him that and so he responded in kind.

"Passable," he said.

"Ooo, only passable?" asked Ginny wincing. "I'm sorry. Better luck next time."

Draco's lips quirked up and he had to bite back a laugh. Ginny noticed.

"Note to remember," she said. "Draco Malfoy is apparently not so much of a bastard right after he's been shagged."

"I fail to see how this will be of benefit to you."

"You never know when certain pieces of knowledge might come in handy," she said solemnly and he had to suppress another smile.

"I'm serious," she said, noticing the twitch of his lips. "I have a book full of this stuff. For example, Harry here loves to fly, but he is terrified of heights when it involves ladders."

Draco looked over to where Harry and Hermione sat together, listening into their conversation. Harry shrugged at Ginny's statement; it was obviously true.

"And Hermione is allergic to birds but sleeps with a feather pillow anyway."

"It's just more comfortable," said Hermione.

"Professor McGonagall's animagi form is a cat but she can retain her night vision for a few hours after she comes out of her form."

Draco gave the Gryffindor girl a look. "How many people do you keep tabs on?"

Ginny shrugged. "The ones I feel are important."

"I'm important now?"

"You've always been important to me."

Silence.

"Alright," said Ginny, "that came out completely wrong. Basically, I keep tabs on people who may be influential to the activities around myself. As you are in an influential position, yes, I keep tabs on you."

"So you're keeping tabs on everyone who may be key players in the war. Rather Slytherin of you."

"I got lots of experience at home. Growing up with six older brothers is not an easy thing to do."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Ah, you're trusting my word. That's rather Gryffindor of you."

Draco shrugged. "I doubt you would lie about it. You are still mostly Gryffindor so that makes you truthful."

"But what can we say is truer, the intention of honesty, mistaken, or the truth given with the intention to deceive?" Ginny quoted.

"Marlin Brimley," said Draco. "Impressive."

"I like to keep up with wizarding philosophy," Ginny shrugged. "His first book was better than his second."

"Most people say it was the other way around."

"He spent too much time on the classical questions in the second. I liked it better when he theorized about the little things, the ones that interested him. His column in the paper is the best, I think, because he doesn't spend too much time elaborating on different theories."

Draco blinked. "The paper," he said. "I'm an idiot."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "The paper said you were an idiot, or you are an idiot because of the paper?"

Draco was already out of his seat and in front of his bookshelf by the fire, grabbing the large tome of medical journals and then walking back to his seat, already flipping through it to the eighty-second page and finding the passage he needed.

"Nundu blood," he read, "was once a treatment for the bite of the Ash snake, however, for the blood to be non-lethal, the proportion of Nundu blood had to be exactly half of the venom. Because of the volatile nature of the blood, the treatment was stopped once the antidote was developed by Wilhelm Fends."

"The paper was right," said Ginny, nodding sagely. "You are an idiot."

"This was originally published in a medical paper. I had forgotten where I read it until you mentioned Brimley's column."

"And you need to know that Nundu blood was once a treatment for the Ash snake, why?"

"Because the Ash snake is a cousin of the Ashwinder, which means adding the nundu blood before the essence of murtlap will not nullify the effects of the blood which proves Snape wrong."

Draco sat back in his chair feeling extremely satisfied with himself. The three Gryffindors looked at him a little oddly but he didn't mind.

"Note to self," said Ginny, "Draco Malfoy is apparently a lot smarter than what was originally suspected."

Draco knew he should be concerned that he had just revealed to the three that he was obviously quite intelligent, and that he was also proving Snape wrong and working with him on a project, but at the same time, he didn't think they would tell anyone else. Besides, Bill and Dumbledore and Kingsley already knew, and not through any revelations on his part. It was about time other people his age knew. It might prove to be of use further on.

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Bill received the owl that Draco had found a chapter detailing Merlin's cloak from Dumbledore. A day later he received the owl saying that Aurors had been sent to the tomb of Merlin, but it was undisturbed. At least, it was undisturbed for now.

A day later and he received a package by Floo. It was from Draco and it contained the chapters that had been written in Ancient Runes perfectly in order with their accompanying translations.

Bill knew Draco would have it finished quickly, but he hadn't expected it in less than a week. It was incredible what the kid could do and Bill immediately set about reading the chapter Dumbledore had written about.

The cloak did seem intriguing, and Bill wondered why Voldemort hadn't taken it yet. He supposed that the Curator could be taking his time with the chapter, but still, Voldemort could be most persuasive, and from what he had been told about the Curator, he had been an intelligent, but soft, old man. Bill couldn't see that type of man lasting up for a week against Voldemort, and he wondered why the self-proclaimed lord hadn't gone for the cloak yet.

Of course, Voldemort could merely be biding his time, not expecting the Order and Aurors to have discovered his intentions yet. If that was the case, the Aurors under-cover at the tomb could have an opportunity to put a serious stint in Voldemort's plan.

Bill came to the last chapter, a little surprised at first to see it untranslated, but then he looked closer and realized it was the second Persian Rune dialect. He knew Draco was probably already looking into translating the chapter and no doubt the genius was thrilled to be the first one in centuries to read the chapter.

"Your friend is quite smart," said Michael, looking over the chapters as well, obviously impressed at the speed in which the translations had come.

"That he is," Bill agreed. "Dumbledore has already set up Aurors at the tomb of Merlin."

"So, we are finished with the book then?" asked Michael.

Bill looked at the boxes of pages and nodded. "Looks like it," he said.

"You should take this over to the museum then," said Michael.

"I thought I was under house arrest?"

Michael laughed. "It is for your own protection you know, but I shall let you out this once. The Curator's secretary is trying to get his house back in order, and she came across a few notebooks of runes and some loose pages. She needs someone with knowledge of Ancient Runes."

"And you volunteered me."

"Naturally," said Michael.

"It will feel good to get out of this house," admitted Bill.

"And that is why I volunteered you." Michael checked his watched and then stood. "I must be off."

"I thought you didn't frequent the pubs until later."

"I don't," said Michael. "This is…a different appointment."

Bill frowned, getting the idea that Michael wasn't exactly telling him something. After months of learning to read Draco, the rest of the world was much simpler.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"There is a man I met, one who has information on the Curator's disappearance."

"But that's not our job anymore," said Bill. "The Auror's are taking over the investigation."

"But the Aurors cannot go where I can go," said Michael. "If I can get this man to talk, then perhaps we will know where the Curator is being held. Once we know that, we can contact the Aurors and formulate an escape plan. But only I can do this."

Michael looked sincere, but Bill was worried he had a bit of a hero-mentality. He nodded anyway.

"Alright, but with one his of a problem, you come back here, and we'll take you out. I don't want your cover to be blown."

Michael smiled. "Thank you. I promise I will not take any unnecessary risks."

"Good," said Bill, and then Michael stepped back through the Floo.

It did feel good to get out. Bill Flooed to the Museum with the boxes of chapters and also his own journals to help him translate the Curator's work. He was met by the middle-aged secretary who was sporting horn-rimmed glasses and bright red lipstick. Bill tried not the laugh at the complete cliché the woman embodied.

"Hello," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Mildred, but you can call me Millie. Thank you so much for coming. Did you do these translations?"

"No, a friend of mine did," said Bill.

"And what is his name?" asked Millie, pulling out a notebook. "I'll be sure to have the display give his name."

"Oh," said Bill. "Actually, he would like to remain anonymous for now, is that alright?"

"Of course," said Millie. "You just let me know when he changes his mind."

"Thanks," said Bill.

"You can just leave those boxes right there," said Millie. "I've already told the display men where to put it. We'll be Flooing out to Mr. Barret's house and thank you, in advance, for coming. When he finally gets home, I want everything to be perfectly in place."

"I understand," said Bill, and then stepped into the fireplace.

The Curator's house was large, and decorated in pleasing shades of whites and pastels.

"His office is right over here," said Millie, leading him to a closed door and opening it. "I tried to straighten up the best I could, but I can't make heads or tails of his papers. All of them in runes, all of them."

The office still showed signs of a struggle. The room was bright, with a floor length window behind the desk, but a few of the bookcases were scratched, and one had a shelf missing, the tomes piled on top of each other. A table had a wooden prop in place of one of it's legs, and there was a lamp missing, only the lamp shade remaining behind.

All of the Curator's knick-knacks were set out randomly on his desk, and the chairs and table held boxes full of pages and notebooks.

"Wow," said Bill. "He was a busy guy."

"He loved his work," said Millie. "And ever since his wife died, well, he hasn't had time for anything else, not even his son."

"How old is his son now?" asked Bill.

"In his twenties, I would imagine. I've only ever seen him once. His son wanted to be an Auror, and Jean disapproved. There was quite a falling out, but I think that Jean was mostly against the idea because he didn't want to lose his son as well."

Bill gave a small smile of sympathy and walked to the boxes. He pulled out a notebook at random and flipped through it.

"I'll leave you to it then," said Millie. "I'll come back with some lunch for you in a bit."

"Thank you," said Bill, nodding to the woman.

The door was closed and then Bill set to work.

It took him a day before he found the code in the Curator's journal.

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KK, so the next chapter is going up tomorrow. Excited? Curious? Mildly Intrigued? If so, leave a review. If not, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.


	14. Blue Violet and Avada Green

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I do own the sore bum and bruise on my hand for slipping on the ice that's covering all of PA, NY, and NE. It was really funny (the fall, not the ice).

**Silvera**: Glad to hear that you are liking the D/G interaction. I am planning to throw Ginny in there every so often, just to keep things going b/t her and Draco, but not in this chapter. Thanks!**Spyrit**: Yes, I do reveal who the Curator's son is today, and I hope you like it. Also you can mention Draco and his sex-hair all you want. Why do you think I wrote it after all? (grins!)  
**Conngirl87**: I didn't mean to suggest that Dumbledore hadn't thought of one, just that he is interested in what Draco had thought of. As for Draco being presumptuous, yeah, he is a little bit. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Kasiuke**: Have you gone to bed yet? I hope so, all-nighters are never fun. And I'm glad that you like my Pansy. I always thought, for her to make Slytherin, there must be something more to her. Thanks!  
**Faith****Maguire**: Aww, no school today either? I didn't get that, but probably cuz I'm just in PA and not up there with the majority of the snow. And I understood your math equation. Thanks for the review!  
**Astaroth**: LOL, it's up, it's up!  
**Sanjs**: I'm the best? You're my fav reviewer now, lol. As for Pansy, she'll be okay as she's not exactly one of the higher up minions. Thanks!  
**Freyalyn**: I'm glad that you're getting into cuz that means I'm doing my job, well, not my job cuz I'm not getting paid, but you know. Thanks for the review!

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"I gather you have made this before?"

Draco looked up at Professor Snape, who was watching him brew the Wolfsbane from his desk where he was grading papers.

"It was one of the potions I had to make for my certification."

He carefully added the manticore hoof to the Wolfsbane, pulling his hand back from the cauldron quickly so that he wouldn't get splashed by the boiling substance.

"You could just put the hoof on your ladle and lower it into the potion," remarked Snape drolly.

Draco shrugged. "That would take all of the excitement out of potion making."

"Potions shouldn't be exciting, which is something my third years should learn. They're boiling over their cauldrons every chance they get. Yes, it is quite exciting to have standing flames and noxious smoke."

Draco smirked and then waited for the potion to turn blue before adding a cup of water and then lessening the flame underneath the cauldron. He perched on a desk and waited for the boiling to simmer down.

"I hear a certain Slytherin has been spending time with you," said Snape. "And by 'time' I mean nights."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Worried?"

"Not about you," said Snape dryly. Draco knew that he was partly lying.

"I know what I'm doing," he said.

"Not even geniuses are immune to matters when women are involved."

"Not every genius is me."

"I just want to make sure you know what you are doing. Attachments that seem to be nothing can quickly turn to so much more."

"It's not turning into anything more."

"Feelings may come into play," continued Snape, undaunted.

"There are no feelings."

"For now."

"There won't be any feelings." Draco's voice was sharper, frustration leaking through.

"You can't be sure-,"

"Yes, I damn well can!"

Draco's almost-shout rang through the classroom and Snape raised an eyebrow, having pushed Draco to the point where it was perfectly clear how he felt about Pansy.

"I thought so," he said. "Lucius really has had quite the influence on you."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Don't mention him," he said icily.

"I was somewhat concerned that you were going to get in over your head and be swept away by Ms. Parkinson's feminine wiles. I see now that the only danger you are in is missing out on the female sex entirely."

"I can tell you, I'm _not _missing out," said Draco.

"I can assure you, you are," said Severus. "Take it from a man who has deliberately turned away love; unless the woman you are with truly and deeply cares for you, and unless you are willing to care as well, you will never understand women, and never be able to appreciate them."

"The hell brought this on?" Draco demanded. "Valentine's day is in February."

"The Headmaster is aware of your extra-curricular activities," Snape said.

"Something I didn't want to know."

"And he is concerned for your emotional well-being."

"I'm showing that I'm a healthy teenaged boy with hormones," said Draco, getting off of the table and getting ready to add the powdered wolf teeth.

"He is afraid that you will remain…," Snape trailed off, obviously searching for a word.

"Cold?" asked Draco. "Unfeeling, aloof, distant, emotionally unavailable?"

"Alone when you have no need to be," said Snape.

"And he asked you to talk to me about it?"

"Yes."

"And you couldn't come up with anything more subtle?"

"Anything short of outright saying it, and you wouldn't get the point."

"I wouldn't get the point?" asked Draco, incredulous. "I'm a genius."

"You are a genius in mathematics, and language, and every other subject taught in this school. You are not a genius when it comes to emotional matters. In fact, I could even say you are completely clueless."

"I know when someone is harboring a secret crush on another. I know when two people are seeing each other in secret. I can tell if a marriage is going to last with a ninety-two percent accuracy rate by merely dining with the couple and I'm an idiot when it comes to the subject of emotions?"

"Yes, you can tell when someone has a crush, but have you ever felt one?" Snape countered.

"I don't get 'crushes'," said Draco.

"Precisely my point."

"What? I don't behave in a childish manner concerning matters of the opposite sex and that's your whole basis for your belief that I'm lacking smarts in the emotional field?"

"Naturally," said Snape.

"That makes absolutely no sense."

"No, what makes no sense is your insistence that you are emotionally beyond capable when you haven't even held a crush on a girl."

"This is ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"By not falling into the common mistakes of harboring secret, immature likings for another person based on looks or comedic values simply means that I am an impartial observer, the only person whose opinion can be based on something other than personal experience. It actually makes for arguing that I am one of the few who are to be taken seriously when it comes to these matters because I am not basing my theories on personal experience."

Snape crossed over to the cauldron, watching as Draco added the powder because it was one of the more delicate processes of the potion. Adding too much at one time would cause the powder to clump up, which would ruin it, but at the same time, too little, and the potion would cool before all of it could be dissolved.

"Would you call that blue or purple?" he asked, nodding his head at the liquid.

" It's actually blue violet," said Draco.

"But is it blue or purple? If you had to categorize it, which would it go under?"

"Purple," said Draco.

"I think it should be blue," said Snape. "In my experience, that is more of an indigo than a purple."

"And my experience says that it should be purple. It's just a matter of opinion."

"Would you ask a blind person to be the judge of what color it should be?"

"Pardon?"

"If your theory holds true, if only you are to be trusted in the field of emotions because you have had no experience with matters of the heart, than a blind person could tell you what color this is because they've had no experience with the two colors and so they have no personal ties to either hue."

Draco frowned as he finished adding the powder and stirred three times. He brought up the flame under the cauldron.

"That analogy doesn't apply," he argued lamely, the only objection he could come up with.

"But doesn't it?" asked Snape.

"A blind person doesn't even know what color is, or that it even exists."

"And do you know what it is like to love a woman, or for a woman to love you?"

"Love doesn't exi-," Draco started, and then he stopped because he had walked right into Snape's argument. He swore and then turned and started picking up the ingredients. "What is this?" he asked as he slammed the jars back on their shelves. He turned and faced Snape. "Why, all of a sudden, is my belief on emotions such a point of interest with you all? I've been going to this school for seven years, and now you choose to look into my well-being?"

"Dumbledore is concerned," said Snape mildly.

"He just found out I'm a bloody genius, just held a real converstaion with me. He doesn't get to be concerned, and for that matter, neither do you. You can't decide to care about my well-being now that I've decided to join your side."

Snape didn't answer, not at first. He was checking the levels and color of the potion. Right now the potion was boiling away into steam, and as it did, the color changed from a blue violet to a very decided indigo. When there was a goblet-full left, he took the cauldron off the flame and then spooned the contents into a cup, steam still rising off of the potion.

He turned around and handed it to Draco.

"Lupin should be in his room still. I believe he is teaching an extra class on Boggarts for those who are having difficulties."

Draco took the goblet and headed for the door. He paused when Snape spoke again.

"Have you thought that perhaps he has just become worried about you because he has just gotten to know you? You have been hiding yourself quite successfully these past years, and you still are hiding, to an extent. And, while you may think his worry is misplaced and that you are quite capable of caring for yourself, he is still much wiser than you. Remember that."

Draco didn't look back, nor did he answer. He didn't think Snape was expecting one.

Lupin's extra class was just letting out when Draco reached the DADA professor's room and there was only one student left inside, a familiar head of dark hair.

Lupin looked up from where he was showing Laney something in the book when Draco entered.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "I didn't realize you were making the potion this month."

"Hermione's a little busy this week," said Draco, noticing how the teacher seemed to be somewhat hesitant around him.

Still, Lupin took the potion from him without looking at it, or him, suspiciously. Lupin withdrew to the front of the room to force the potion down and Draco knelt by Laney's desk.

"Trouble with class?" he asked.

"The Boggart," said Laney.

"Oh," said Draco. He didn't know how to help her with this. He was assuming that Lupin was using the 'riddikulus' technique, and Draco never had managed to master it.

"Uncle Draco?" asked Laney hesitantly.

Draco looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I was in the hall a few days ago and I saw you with a girl. You were kissing and all, does that mean you're going to marry her? Charity has a brother who's getting married and he's your age."

Oh, damn.

Draco sat in the chair next the Laney and tried to figure out how to explain this exactly.

"Laney," he began, and then stopped. His fingers flew in his pattern as he tried again. "Did your mother tell you anything about, well, guys and girls?"

"You mean like," here Laney looked around and then leaned in and whispered, "sex?"

"Umm, yeah, well, not that exactly, but dating and stuff."

"Are you dating her?"

Draco mentally groaned. "No, not exactly."

"But you were kissing her, _a lot_," said Laney.

"Yes," said Draco. "I was. And you are never to kiss someone unless you've been dating for a very long time, alright?"

"But you're not dating."

"Yeah, but, uh, I'm not really…I'm not doing it right. Don't do what I'm doing, alright?"

"Do you love her? Because if you do, then it's okay."

_Merde_.

"Laney," Draco began, and then stopped. How did one explain this?

"Are you being licentious?" asked Laney.

"Am I being what?" asked Draco, not confused by the meaning of the word, but surprised that Laney knew it.

"That's what mum said when people aren't dating and aren't in love but are having relations," said Laney seriously.

"Yeah," said Draco. "I'm being licentious."

Laney looked at him gravely and Draco slumped in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

"_Shit_."

Of course, once the word had left his lips he mentally kicked himself. First he was being licentious and now he was swearing in front of his eleven year old niece?

He looked over at Laney who was watching him with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She got up and threw her arms around him. Draco hadn't been expecting that and he froze.

"It's alright," she said. "I don't care if you're being licentious."

He slowly wrapped his arms around her, unused to the embrace but finding that it was comforting. He let his head rest on hers because there was a tightening in the back of his throat.

She pulled back after a bit and regarded him severely.

"You said 'shit'," she accused.

"Watch your language," said Draco.

"You said it."

"Yeah, well I'm licentious," said Draco. "You don't say it, understand?"

"I was using it in quotes."

"I don't care if you use it parenthesis," said Draco. "No swearing for you."

"When I'm older?"

"When you're eighty-two."

She giggled and Draco got up, eyes flickering to where Lupin was at his desk, involving himself in his grade book to give them privacy. Draco nodded once to the teacher and then left the room.

He found Pansy in the library at one of the desks in the back of the shelves. He stayed on the opposite side of the desk and waited until she looked up at him.

"I can't do this anymore," he said.

She raised her eyebrows. "I think that's the first time you've been the one to call it off."

"Yeah, well that was before I had a niece."

"And now you want to be a good example?"

"She said I was being licentious."

"Well, you are."

"And I would rather that she didn't become so. Do you need to keep it going for any reason?"

"Not particularly. I've proven that I could get you, it should be enough. I'll tell the others some made up stories and they'll be happy enough."

Draco nodded. "I'll keep an eye out for you."

"That's all I ask."

Draco nodded again and then turned around to leave, but Pansy spoke up, so he turned back.

"Draco, you should really think about finding yourself a nice girl."

"Merlin, Pansy. Don't you start too."

"I'm serious," said Pansy. "Find someone who isn't going to keep running after different boys. I was never right for you."

"Pansy, don't."

"I know that your mother-,"

Draco turned on his heel and walked away.

Unfortunately, the week was not over, nor did the week improve in any way.

Draco walked into DADA the next day to find a trunk holding a Boggart in the front of the room. He only half listened to Professor Lupin's lecture, knowing that there was no way he was going to get up in front of the class and show his deepest fear.

"While the Boggart is generally considered an easy opponent to defeat, once you understand the basics of the 'riddikulus' spell, it can still be quite dangerous if you do not posses your wand. Now, the basis of the 'riddikulus' spell is to laugh at your fear, but without your wand, you will have to face it, to talk to it. In showing the Boggart you are not afraid, and that you are not under the power of fear, you can impose your will onto the creature."

Remus unlocked the trunk. "Please line up," he said to the class, "and I will instruct you as you face the Boggart."

All of the students stood up and formed a line in the middle of the room, all the students except Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Lupin. "Please join your classmates."

Draco shook his head. "I'm sorry Professor, I can't do that."

The class stared.

"Mr. Malfoy, this is part of the class assignment, and participation is required."

"And I cannot participate," said Draco. "Nor do I believe that broadcasting our private, personal fears in a classroom setting and in front of other people is entirely necessary or ethical."

"But this is a classroom setting, and by participating I will be teaching you how to counter these fears."

"I assure you that I am already capable of such a maneuver, but I am unable to participate in today's activity."

"You will receive a zero for a grade."

"That is acceptable."

"Very well, you may be excused."

Draco nodded, but then Nott raised his hand.

"I can't participate either," he said.

"Or me!" called out one of Nott's Ravenclaw cronies.

"Yeah, me neither!"

And then half of the class was calling out their excuses and Lupin was looking quite overwhelmed. Draco gathered his things and slipped out the door, unwilling to be in a room with a Boggart and with so many people.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Michael groaned, only aware that his head was throbbing with every beat of his heart and that it was dark, pitch dark.

There was a sharp pain as something heavy connected with his side and his eyes sprang open, solving the problem of the darkness, although it took him a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the light and a few more moments for him to blink his eyes into focus.

He was lying on a wood floor and there was a desk a little ways away, and sitting at the desk was a very worried, pale man with grey hair and brown eyes. He was being held in the chair by a man wearing a Death Eater's mask and it was apparent the old man wished to run to Michael, to see if he was alright.

Michael was hauled to his feet by another Death Eater and he was nearly ill at the sudden movement, his head emitting a flash of pain at the change of altitude and his vision swam. A hand smacked across his face and he could see again, see the Curator of the museum trying to rise, only to be thrust back down again by the Death Eater.

"Please," said the Curator. "Don't hurt him, just, don't hurt him."

"Then you had better start translating!" growled the Death Eater, cuffing the back of Jean Barret's head. "You've been stalling long enough!"

So the Curator _had_ been trying to stall for time. Michael looked Jean Barret over, noticing the sweaty brow and the hands that trembled slightly. There were faint bruises on his face, and he sat hunched over, as if his ribs were hurting him, but he couldn't make out any injuries under the black robes.

"Don't do it," said Michael.

He was slammed face-first against the wall, biting down on a cry of pain. A hand twisted into his hair, pulling his head back and then smashing his face into the wall, once, twice, three times. He felt his nose break the second time, and felt the bones smash back into his skull the third and he yelled.

He was released and he toppled to the floor. "Don't do it!" he forced out again.

A foot connected with his side.

"Stop it!" commanded Jean Barret. "I'll do it. I'll translate it!"

"No!" Michael gasped, but then the foot was kicking again and he curled up as best he could.

"I said to stop it!" Jean was yelling, trying to get up, but the Death Eater holding him smashed his fist into the Curator's stomach and the old man fell out of his chair, still struggling, and Michael was struggling to get up, to stop them from harming the Curator. That's when the Death Eater pulled out his wand –

All Michael knew was pain, a fire racing over his skin and into his veins, racing along with his blood until his vision blurred and his ears rang, or that could have been his screaming, he wasn't sure.

When the Unforgivable was finally lifted off of him, he was gasping and just managing to hold onto reality, knowing that his Auror training had not prepared him for this.

"Don't," said the Curator. "I'll translate. I just need my books and journals. They are at my house in my office in my desk. Just go get them and I'll translate."

"Your journals?" one of the Death Eaters demanded. "You never said anything about needing the journals."

"That's because I was trying to trick you," said the Curator. "But now I'm not. Not now, not when-," he cut himself off.

"You had better not," said the Death Eater, and the two left.

Michael lifted his gaze to the Curator.

"Don't," he said.

Jean Barret shook his head, tears forming in his eyes. "I can't, Julien. I'm so sorry, I can't."

Michael shook his head, even as he felt the darkness rise up. "Dad, don't."

And then Julien Michael Barret let unconsciousness over take him.

-------------------------------------------------

Bill stared at the walls in shock. He had followed Draco's example and had posted sheets of paper over the walls and had written all over the paper, trying to figure out where the Curator had been going with his code.

Jean Barret had been close to deciphering the code, and had filled four green journals of the ciphers, and so it had only taken Bill three days to straighten his office and complete the code, and now he had it. If only he knew what 'it' was. The wording was a little vague.

It made since that the wording would be vague, after all, the code came from _The Averne_, which originated from a time when people loved to speak in riddles. Besides, the Latin that the code translated into was a slightly different dialect and the English translation was a little sketchy in parts. Each chapter of _The Averne_, or rather, each title of each chapter leant a word, or a few words (depending on the legnth of the title) to the code.

He sighed, cracked his neck, and looked at the translation again.

_The Descent/Submersion _(Bill didn't know what word it was yet; it could be both)_ an easy path._ _No doors bar the Road, but Descend/Submerge only for Death. Life is not easily returned/retraced. The Road not by water, so diverged by men. A Mantle/Veil of water woven to mark the way. Descend/Submerge only for Death. Life may be saved, but only with a prayer and --_

And that was where the code trailed into the chapter written in the Persian Runes that Draco had not yet translated. Bill wondered what the code could be referring to.

He sat down to write a letter to Dumbledore, telling him of the code he had found and asking the Headmaster to discuss it with Draco, only if the teen had the time. It was while he was writing that an owl from Dumbledore came through the window.

Bill took the letter eagerly, wondering if the tomb of Merlin had been attacked yet, and if the Aurors had managed to capture the Death Eaters. He skimmed the letter and then threw it down in frustration. The Death Eaters still hadn't tried to attack the tomb of Merlin. What were they waiting for? They did want the cloak to attack Hogwarts, didn't they?

Bill put a kettle of tea on and waited for Michael to return with more news of the Curator. Michael was certain that he had met an informant who knew where the Curator had been taken, but the informant had been most uncooperative, making Michael meet him several times to determine that Bill's contact was not a Death Eater, ready to tell the others of the leak.

Bill glanced at the clock, seeing that Michael wasn't due for another fifteen minutes, and then he glanced back at the unfinished translation. He wondered if the Curator had attempted to translate the Persian Rune chapter.

Bill knew that Michael didn't want him out of the house unless it was absolutely necessary, but he was bored, and immensely curious, so he got up and started the Floo.

He stepped out into the living room of the Curator's house and headed for the office where he had been organizing for the past few days. He pulled open the desk drawers and began shifting through the journals, skimming through a few of them.

He found nothing and so wandered about the house, searching on any of the other bookshelves for any journals. He finally found what he was looking for in the bedroom on the bedside bookshelf, another green journal with the beginning attempts to translate the Persian Runes. It didn't look like the Curator had gotten very far.

Bill decided he would take the journal anyway, but in standing he noticed the photo on the Curator's dresser. He picked the picture up and stared. He knew who the teenager was in the picture, although the man was older now, but there was no mistaking the sandy blond hair or the blue-grey eyes. That was Michael. Why did the Curator have a picture of Michael on his dresser?

His conversation with Millie came back to him.

_"He loved his work," said Millie. "And ever since his wife died, well, he hasn't had time for anything else, not even his son."_

_"How old is his son now?" asked Bill._

_"In his twenties, I would imagine. I've only ever seen him once. His son wanted to be an Auror, and Jean disapproved. There was quite a falling out, but I think that Jean was mostly against the idea because he didn't want to lose his son as well."_

Michael was Jean Barret's son; that was why Michael was so intent on finding the Curator. Michael had said that he was an Auror before Dumbledore had spoken to him about doing undercover work for him. It all made sense now.

Bill put the photo down and was just walking to the door when there was a crash in the living room. He froze as he heard voices.

"Shut the hell up, Andre."

"There's no one here to hear us."

"Yeah, well I don't want to attract any attention. Let's just get the journals and get out of here."

Bill crept closer to the door, not daring to peek out, but wanting to hear what the intruders were saying. He could hear them rummaging about the office, the sound of drawers opening and shutting.

"Alright, I think that's all of them," said Andre.

"Good, let's get out of here. That Curator had better be telling the truth about these journals, or I swear I'll kill his kid in front of him."

Bill's breath caught in his throat. They had Michael?

He snuck a glance out the door to see two Death Eaters step into the fireplace and once they were gone, he pulled out his wand. The Aurors would be able to trace that Floo within a five block radius, and Bill was guessing they had Floo-ed because they had put up Anti-Apparition wards. They were easily detectable and not common. He was betting the Aurors could find the Death Eaters' hideout quite easily.

------------------------------------------------------

Julien came back into consciousness feeling a hand stroke soothingly through his hair. He opened his eyes to find his father cradling him gently, his eyes frightened.

"Dad," he managed.

"Jules," said Barret, "how are you?"

Julien didn't want to think about that, knowing that if he allowed his mind to dwell on his injuries they would just hurt more. "M'fine," he said. "You?"

"Julien, I'm sorry," said Barret.

Julien shook his head slightly. "Listen," he said, wishing that his voice was more forceful than a whisper, but he couldn't quite manage the air flow. He had a feeling a few ribs were broken. "We know about the passage you have to translate."

"You do?" asked Barret.

Julien nodded. "It's okay to give them the translation."

"But you said not to before."

"I had to make it look convincing, but we have Aurors at the grave of Merlin."

"The grave of Merlin?"

"For the cloak," said Julien. "So it's okay to give them the translation."

His father shook his head. "You don't understand, Jules. I'm sorry. I'm sorry haven't talked to you in so long, I'm sorry I turned you out after Maria…after your mother passed."

"Dad, it's fine."

"No, no it's not. I should have been there when you graduated from school, and when you graduated from the Auror's Academy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't save you."

Julien frowned. "What?"

Jean sobbed. "I already gave them the cloak translation and I cannot complete the other, not even with my books."

The door burst open and the two Death Eaters strode in, arms full of journals. They dumped them on the table and Barret got up, lowering Julien to the floor. Julien pushed himself up so he was leaning against the wall, holding his ribs and trying not to move too much.

The Curator looked through the journals, then back up at the Death Eaters.

"They're not here," he said.

"What do you mean, not there?"

"The journals I need to translate. They're not here. I had five green journals with the code and they aren't here. You must have missed them."

"We didn't miss anything, old man. That's all of them, so start translating, or your little boy here gets it."

His father turned panicked eyes in his direction, then back to the Death Eaters. "Please, no. I just need the journals!"

"You have the journals. Now work!"

"But these aren't the right ones – No! Don't!" his father yelled when Julien was hauled up by his neck, gasping for air as he gripped the hand that squeezed around his throat.

"He can't breathe, old man. Get to work!"

Julien tried to gasp in a breath, but the hand was too strong. He gagged, panicking as he struggled, his vision going dark. He was shoved against the wall, still held by the throat, but the hand wasn't as tight and he was able to rasp in labored breaths.

The other Death Eater held up a knife in front of his face and then showed it to the Curator.

"No!" Jean shouted, his voice breaking. "I just need the journals. Please!"

"Well then, who has the journals?" asked the Death Eater.

"I-I don't know."

The knife slashed across Julien's chest, tearing his shirt and cutting into his flesh in the process. He couldn't scream because he didn't have enough air and so all that came out was a kind of strangled yell and he would have crumpled, but the Death Eater kept him pinned up on the wall.

His father screamed for him.

"Translate, old man!"

The knife was dug into his side, half an inch deep, and he gasped, struggling feebly.

"Please, no! Not him. Not my son."

The knife was dragged across his stomach agonizingly slowly, never going any deeper, but enough to slowly rip open his skin, blood spilling out and he squeezed his eyes shut, biting back the sobs.

That was when there was a crash and shouts in the next room.

"Shit! That's the Aurors!"

"Kill them and let's get out of here."

No. There was no way Julien was letting them kill him or his father now, not when rescue was so close.

He lunged forward, impaling himself on the knife but managing to topple the Death Eater. The Death Eater hit the floor, his head cracking on the wood surface and going still. Julien was already rolling off of him, adrenaline keeping him going more than anything.

The other Death Eater was raising his wand at him and there was blue light, a curse of some sort. Training kicked in and he managed to twist out of the majority of it, but it grazed him, and then he was falling back, hitting the floor, and the wand was raised again. This was it. He was going to die.

The Death Eater was shoved, his father tackling the man, fighting for the wand. Julien tried to stay conscious, tried to fight past the sleep that seemed intent on claiming him. His father was lunging again, there was a green light, and then his father was falling backwards, hitting the ground, lying still.

Julien screamed, but there was no noise. The door burst open, men in red robes appearing. His eyes locked once with a man with red hair and worried hazel eyes.

The man was yelling something, most likely 'Michael!' but Julien couldn't hear anything. The world was silent; a second later, it went dark.

------------------------------------------------------------

The Death Eater had escaped, taking with him _The Averne_ and also Jean Barret's journals, not that it would do them any good. Bill was in possession of the journals, and he was sending them out to Dumbledore as soon as he could, or, as soon as he was done being briefed by the Head Auror and as soon as he was able to visit Michael.

Raul Abney, Chief of the French Aurors, had known of the mission Bill and Michael, or rather Julien, was on and he had kept tabs on Julien's travels. When Julien had gone missing, he had just entered an abandoned house. The Aurors following him had been unable to follow and they reported nothing unusual, except, of course, the fact that Julien hadn't come out. They hadn't even seen the suspect.

"So we have no clue what this guy looked liked?" asked Bill wearily.

Raul smiled. "It wasn't a guy."

"What?" asked Bill.

"The house that the Death Eaters had taken over had a rather nosy neighbor, a Mrs. Edith Cheney. She reports that two men moved into the house accompanied by a blonde woman. From what reports we could gather, Julien met with her a few times before the meeting in the house where he was taken. We're still comparing notes with the bartenders where they met and with a few other sources, and we should have a rough ID by the morning."

Bill was impressed. "That's good work," he said.

"Well, we got lucky. The Death Eaters were employing similar strategies to Dumbledore. One person went out gathering information, the others stayed behind and did the dirty work. No one remembers seeing or hearing of the two men that bought the house, discounting the time when you heard them in the Curator's house. I'm betting those two were responsible for the kidnapping of Jean Barret as well."

"It's a smart move," said Bill. "No one can tie the girl to the kidnappings, because all she's doing is listening and asking around, making sure that no one's watching them. The men only come out to grab the Curator and look around his house. No one knows that they are there, so they can't be suspects."

Raul nodded. "It was a tight plan. We would like you to listen to some voices on record. We're hoping that maybe you can identify which are the voices you heard in the apartment, if the men have ever been convicted for previous crimes, of course."

"I'd be glad to," said Bill. "Have you had any word from the hospital yet? I'd like to see how Mic-Julien is doing."

"Julien's in a coma," said Raul. "They don't know if he's going to wake up, and his father was killed by the Avada Kedavra."

Bill shook his head. He had known that the old man was dead from the second he had entered the room, but he had thought Julien would have been fine. The Chief Auror seemed to read his thoughts.

"The knife wound inflected some serious damage to Julien's internal organs. By the time they stopped the bleeding, some stomach acids had seeped out, creating a severe infection."

"I thought we got him to the hospital on time," said Bill. "I just hope that this was all worth it."

The Auror nodded. "Sometimes, that's all we can do."

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Yay! It's up. And remember, next update is Tuesday and because I know you all want to know because of the Boggart mentioned in this chapter, yes, Lord Draco will make an appearance in the next chapter. Leave a review if it makes you happy!


	15. A Discussion with Fear

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I do own the terrible caffeine headache developed after three hard-core days of coffee drinking. Because of this, I apologize if I haven't proofread very well.

**Tdei**: Wow. Seriously, your review was amazing. I've tried to respond to it after the chapter, so read it and let me know what you think. Thanks so much for taking an interest in my story.  
**R2D2**: Whenever I learn a new word, I hear it used everywhere. Let me know if you do too! Thanks for the review!  
**Spyrit**: Cool, a telepathic muse. I always knew I was special! Glad to hear that you liked the Draco and Laney interaction. They're always fun to write. Thanks!  
**Bena24**: Yeah, I get a lot of comments on the Draco-Laney stuff, which makes me happy cuz I like to write it.  
**Anna**: I'm going to have to look up that church in Munster. While I doubt Draco will be traveling there anytime soon, maybe in the third part of the series….thanks!  
**Sanjs**: LOL, I hate PSAT's and SAT's and LSAT's and anything else with SAT in it, I'm mean, seriously, sat for a test name? Terrible. Thanks for the review!  
**Faith Maguire**: Our school gave up trying to clear the ice off the paths, and it melted today, but it's just going to refreeze at night. Is your school the same way? Thanks for reviewing!  
**Dbi626**: It's always bugged me in stories about how a character makes a sudden change, or the change becomes public, and all of a sudden everyone cares about them. It would drive me insane, and I figured it would Draco too. Thanks!  
**Freyalyn**: I'm honored to hold your only steady review (it makes me feel warm and tingly inside!) and yes, Draco is awfully sure of himself. He'll figure out he needs help sometimes by the end of the story though.  
**Lilith**: Guys with sexy hair makes my world go round. Well, that and guys with nice eyes, a nice smile, a nice bod…alright, so I guess it's just guys in general, lol. Especially the white-blonds though. Have you seen the Covenant? Stupid movie, but with hot guys…anyway, off track. Thanks!  
**Drewberry**: Ah yes, the stupid Pansy cliché. I figure, she got in Slytherin for a reason, so did Crabbe and Goyle by the way, which means that they are ambitious, but I couldn't change their characters for this story. Thanks for the review!

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Draco was serving a detention in Lupin's classroom for inciting rebellion. It turns out half of the class had refused to participate in the Boggart practice, which had completely upset the entire class period.

Draco knew that, for Lupin to gain control back, he had to give Draco a detention, but still, sitting in the empty classroom and writing lines while he could have been translating runes or working on a conceptual potion to counter Veritaserum was a much better use of his time.

He stifled a sigh and then set down his quill, flexing the fingers of his left hand for a moment. After eight-seven lines of 'Participation and practice are an important part of learning in the classroom', the muscles really started to cramp up.

He sat back as he stretched his hand. Lupin was at his desk, bent over a letter and frowning at it. Every so often he would jot something down on an empty page only to blot it out a few moments later. Draco wondered if he was trying to write a reply.

He picked his quill back up and began writing again. When he had just reached the ninety-second sentence, the door opened and Draco turned to see Dumbledore enter the room.

"Hello Draco," said Dumbledore. "How are the lines going?"

Draco didn't deign to respond, which only made the Headmaster chuckle. Draco watched as Dumbledore walked up to a much relieved Lupin.

"I told you I wasn't right for this," said Lupin. "I'm completely confused."

"But I appreciate you filling in," said Dumbledore. "May I suggest having Draco spend his detention helping you with this than writing lines?"

Draco jerked his head up at his name to meet Lupin's startled gaze.

"Albus, this is…confidential," said Lupin.

"Of course it is," said Dumbledore. "Draco, come up here. Lupin is our eighth translator who most graciously accepted my request for him to fill the last position."

"Draco is one of the translators?" asked Lupin, looking suitably shocked.

"Yes, Draco is translating for William," said Dumbledore. "They're great friends."

He seemed to delight in making Lupin's eyebrows reach his hairline in surprise.

Draco grudgingly got to his feet, although he was grateful to stop writing the lines. He didn't know how much longer he could force himself to sit still.

"The Gaelic Runes," said Dumbledore, handing him the letter.

Draco took it, skimming over the passage. He went back and read it over, then again. He then stared at the page for a good minute.

"I first thought it was the adjectives," said Lupin into the silence.

Draco glanced up to see the Professor studying him and Dumbledore twinkling at him.

"It's actually the proper nouns," he said, and walked over to the chalkboard. He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote out the message.

V ready to get the cloak. This week.

He handed the letter back to Dumbledore and then walked back to get his things. As far as he was concerned, detention was over.

"It doesn't make any sense, does it?" Dumbledore called after him.

Draco stopped and then turned around to face the Headmaster, arching his eyebrow.

"Severus will be up soon," said Dumbledore. "I wish to discuss a few things with you."

"Only if I am privy to some information," said Draco.

"Which information?"

"I want a list of the suspected Horcruxes."

"Done," said Dumbledore, and Draco frowned, having the feeling that the Headmaster was going to tell him anyways.

Snape chose that moment to enter the room, raising an eyebrow at the occupants, but shutting the door.

"Joining the Order, Draco?" he asked.

"Hell no," said Draco.

Severus snorted and joined Lupin and the Dumbledore in the front of the room. Lupin looked like he was still trying to figure Draco out.

"I recently got a letter from Bill," said Dumbledore. "Just yesterday his contact was kidnapped."

"What?" asked Draco.

"His contact was Julien Michael Barret."

"Jean Barret's son?" asked Draco.

Dumbledore nodded. "The Aurors found the Death Eaters' station, but not before Jean Barret was killed and his son gravely injured. Julien Barret is in a coma and so he is unable to answer any questions we may have, but we can make some inferences."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Jean Barret showed signs of torture, and then his son was brought in. We can assume then, that he was trying to stall for time and did not translate about the cloak, or at least, not until his son was captured as well."

"What evidence of torture was there?" asked Draco, taking a seat on one of the desk tops.

"He had many bruises on the face and torso. There was evidence of illegal potions in his bloodstream, including the Burning and Freezing potions. His nerves were also damaged, suggesting liberal use of the Cruciatus."

Draco frowned. "And on his son?"

"A severe concussion, from when he was captured, and again, facial and abdominal bruising as well as a broken nose. He too had been under the Cruciatus and he had a knife wound running down his chest, another across his stomach. He was stabbed when the Aurors' arrived."

Draco shook his head. "They shouldn't have brought the son in so soon," he said.

"Pardon?" asked Lupin.

"They were just starting the torture. The bruises on the face and torso mean nothing. Those are simply punishment, and to keep the prisoner off guard. If he talks, slap him in the face. If he moves and you don't want him to, punch him in the gut. Keep him believing that you are completely brutal and ruthless. Nothing works better than punishments much harsher than the crime committed because then the psychology begins working along the lines of 'If he beats on me for coughing when he wants silence, what will he do to me if I try to escape'. It's a wonderful scare tactic."

"They 'crucio'ed him liberally," said Dumbledore.

Draco shrugged. "That's my opening number," he said. "The crucio is the perfect torturing curse because it is relatively undamaging but still painful and considered the epitome of harm. It really isn't that bad if you think about it."

"Not that bad?" asked Lupin.

Draco shrugged. "It's not pleasant," he said. "But when it is not used to drive someone insane, it's considered mild by the Death Eaters; the only thing impressive about it, is the power it takes to wield the curse."

Lupin looked unconvinced. "There are many people who have felt the Cruciatus that would disagree with you," he said.

"If they just got off with the Cruciatus, they should feel lucky," said Draco.

"Have you ever-," Lupin began, but both Dumbledore and Snape shot him warning looks. Lupin regarded them curiously. "What?"

"Have you ever been under the Cruciatus, Professor?" asked Draco, turning the question on him.

"No," said Lupin.

"And because you have never been in the position of being captured by the Dark Lord, you don't know what else he can do. There are spells that can severe limbs and burn out eyes. There are spells to burn off the skin layer by layer, or to turn bone into nothing more than powder. All of these spells are irreversible."

"But then why aren't they considered Unforgivable?"

"Because they originated for use in medical purposes. In severe chemical accidents, a layer of the skin would have to be stripped, or in the case of the spitting blood cobra, the eyes would have to be purged so that the victim would survive. The Cruciatus curse was invented for pain, for torture. It was created so that it can only be used by hatred. An unstable wizard can cut off limbs, but he won't be able to use the Cruciatus, therefore the punishment is not for the use of the curse, but for the intent."

Lupin frowned, so Draco spoke again.

"The Dark Lord crucios his recruits to show them his power, and also to test their strength. He would not permanently harm his followers unless they had angered him."

"But it is still wrong to call it mild."

"That is your opinion."

"Until we have lived through the curse, it is not for us to say how 'mild' it is. People have been traumatized by it."

Draco rolled his eyes, knowing that there was no use arguing this point with a Gryffindor, and he didn't exactly want to come out and say 'I was under the bloody Dark Lord's Cruciatus four times, and after a few hours and a few sips of whiskey I was fine'.

"The point is," he said, somewhat coldly, "that the techniques used by the Death Eaters on Jean Barret are just the start. Mid-range would be broken bones, dislocations, lacerations, and etcetera. The high range would be dismemberment, starting with the toes and onto the fingers, followed by feet, and you get the picture. Normally, they bring in family members after the mid-range torture because even the Death Eaters get a little squeamish."

"You're saying that they broke routine," said Dumbledore. "Maybe they knew the Curator wouldn't respond to anything else."

Draco shook his head. "This technique is more similar to a bluff."

"A bluff?" asked Dumbledore.

"A bluff on the Curator's part, and bluff that the Death Eaters didn't buy. It usually involves a small concession on the prisoner's part. For example, a man takes a banker hostage. The man says 'Give me the combination to the vault'. The banker says 'I don't have the code to the vault, but I can give you the key to the register'. At first the robber takes the key, and goes along with it. Just as the banker gets comfortable, thinking he's going to be released, the robber brings in the banker's kid and says 'Give me the code to the vault or I shoot his brains out'."

"Jean Barret was protecting something more valuable?" asked Dumbledore.

Draco shrugged. "It could be that the banker really doesn't have the code to the vault, and so he tried to get away by just giving the key to the register."

"So your saying the Death Eaters wanted something he couldn't give them?"

"But he knew the Syrian dialect, which is what the code was written in. So he tries to get away with the bluff, the Death Eaters bring in his son, crucio him, and Jean Barret would have given up the cloak right then. There isn't a reason to knife his son."

"Actually, Barret might have been trying to stall for time," said Dumbledore.

"How so?" asked Draco.

"Bill found out that Julien was captured because he was at the Curator's house when two Death Eaters arrived looking for the Curator's journal and saying that if the old man was lying they would kill his son."

"It doesn't make sense. Using that type of stalling tactic doesn't fit his profile. He wouldn't have risked his son."

"What if he needed the journals to translate the cloak?" asked Severus.

Draco shook his head. "He was fluent in the Syrian dialect. He wouldn't have needed them."

"Maybe his son told him not to give the Death Eaters what they wanted," said Dumbledore.

"But Julien would have known that we had already translated the cloak chapter and that Aurors were guarding Merlin's tomb. He would have told his father to translate it." Draco frowned. "We're missing something. Why would they torture the son?"

"Maybe they were proving a point," said Lupin.

Draco shook his head. "Not with a knife, that would just make the Curator less cooperative." He thought hard, his fingers flying in their pattern. He finally looked up at Lupin.

"Could I speak with your Boggart?" he asked.

"I'm sorry?" asked Lupin.

"Not your Boggart as in your manifestation, but the Boggart you had for class. Could I speak with it?"

"It's in the trunk," said Lupin, pointing to a corner where a trunk lay ominously still.

Draco got off the desk and walked to the trunk, before pausing and looking over his shoulder. "This goes no further than this room," he said.

The men nodded, looking quite curious and then Draco opened the lid of the trunk and stepped back.

The pale hand appeared on the side of the trunk, and then the other. Lord Draco sat up much like a vampire did in the old Muggle horror films. His eyes, his glazed-over, blood shot eyes, landed on Draco and he broke into a manic grin.

"Congratulations!" He got out of the trunk and grabbed Draco's hand. "All on your way to ruling the world. First we gain their trust, then we loll-up back to dear Voldemort, show 'im what we've got and completely decimate the Order. I mean, the Dark Lord did just offer us heir to his throne. He's a nice guy, he is. And he took such an interest in us and, oh!"

That was because he had spotted the Professors in the front of the room. Lord Draco stared at the three teachers before turning back to Draco, looking somewhat affronted.

"Where's Bill?" demanded Lord Draco. "I liked him, well, I mean, liked him enough to kill him I suppose."

The three older men were staring at Draco's Boggart in shock. Draco supposed he couldn't blame them. This time Lord Draco was wearing a long, tight tunic of crushed velvet, ironically in a color somewhere between blue and purple, but one could argue either way. There was a good amount of black lace on the cuffs and silver buttons ran down the front of the shirt, stopping at the waist where the cloth separated to reveal black silk trousers tucked into hunter-green boots, again with a slight heel. Draco wondered if he was afraid of being short along with everything else.

"I heard that," remarked Lord Draco, turning to face him and then twirling back around to face the three men. "Introduce me," he ordered Draco.

"Professors," said Draco, coming to stand by his doppelganger, "this is Lord Draco. Lord Draco, this is Professor Lupin, Professor Snape, and Headmaster Dumbledore."

"A full moon, bloody hands that can never be cleaned, and a failed Harry Potter," said Lord Draco, clasping his hands together and grinning at all of them. "Of course, not only do I know that because I am a Boggart, but because I am Lord Draco, so I know all because Draco knows all."

"He hasn't learned etiquette yet though," said Draco. "You'll have to excuse him."

"Harsh," said Lord Draco.

"Sweet Merlin," said Snape, taking a step closer to Lord Draco, who took a step closer as well. Lord Draco peered into Snape's eyes, a mixture of intrigue and awe on his face.

"Your eyes are black," he said. "I can't see your pupils. I like it."

"Why isn't he changing into Severus' fear?" asked Dumbledore, turning to Draco with a frown.

Draco shrugged. "He doesn't want to," he said simply.

"He doesn't want to?" asked Dumbledore.

"I'm right here," said Lord Draco, frowning at Dumbledore. "If it weren't for your incredibly amazing robe, I wouldn't like you."

Draco grimaced; Dumbledore was wearing a purple robe with yellow stars and moons. It was hideous.

"Lord Draco, I need to talk to you," said Draco.

"Of course you do," said Lord Draco gleefully, clapping his hands. "I don't think you took me out to learn our new plan of conquering the world, because, well, you already know it." His face fell. "Which actually takes the fun out of it." He turned to Snape. "Do you want to hear it? I end up killing you."

He burst into laughter, twirled about, and then pulled out a vial of Angel Flight. Draco snatched it from his hands.

"Hey!" Lord Draco protested. "That's mine."

"You can have it when I'm done talking and you're done answering," said Draco.

Lord Draco sighed, collapsed onto a chair, and stuck up his feet. "Speak away," he said.

"You captured Jean Barret," said Draco. "Purpose is yet unknown, but he gives you something else, not what you originally took him for."

"Ah, a bluff concession," said Lord Draco. "I'm not fooled by it, but I'll play along, see what I can get."

"Alright, so he gives you the concession, you play along. Now what?"

"A shock to get him to answer my real question. I'd either chop off a limb, left hand works nicely, or go for his family." Lord Draco tipped his head to his side. "I've never chopped off a leg before, though. Maybe I'd go for the leg, to try something new."

"You actually take his son, smack him around a bit, and crucio him. What does Barret do?"

"What Lucius wouldn't do," said Lord Draco, smirking at him wickedly.

Draco ignored the barb and settled for glaring at Lord Draco.

"He gives in. Tries to cooperate," said Lord Draco, rolling his eyes and muttering something about his counterpart being 'no fun'. "He'll do everything it takes for his son's safety."

"Then why does he try to stall and ask for journals?" asked Draco.

"Because he needs the journal, idiot," said Lord Draco.

"He doesn't need the journal though. He has the Syrian Runes memorized."

"He needs the journals."

"But I just said-,"

"You're fixating."

Draco blinked, then groaned and ran a hand through his hair. They had been so sure that the Dark Lord had been after the cloak they hadn't taken in any other possibilities.

"That's the trouble with all of you," said Lord Draco. "You forget that the bad guys can have good luck too."

"The Dark Lord didn't know about the cloak," said Draco. "Not before he captured the Curator."

"Of course not," said Lord Draco.

"The cloak was the concession. The Dark Lord wanted something else."

"That something else would be in those journals-,"

"But even then the Curator couldn't give the Death Eaters what they wanted-,"

"Because his kid was knifed-,"

"Which means that even with the journals he couldn't perform."

"The cloak was the bluff,"

"Because he knew he couldn't do what the Death Eaters originally wanted,"

"And then when they grabbed his kid,"

"He tried stalling for time," Draco finished.

Lord Draco grinned up at him and held out his hand; Draco gave him the vial. Lord Draco tossed it back and his eyes glazed even further.

Draco turned to Dumbledore who was looking at them both, quite intrigued.

"Did you follow?" he asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "I think I know what Voldemort wanted." He pulled out a letter and handed it to Draco. "It's from Bill."

Lord Draco was immediately up and grabbing the letter from Draco. "Bill!" he sang out, dancing away from Draco and sitting on the teacher's desk. Lupin took a step back but Snape didn't; he was still studying the Boggart. Lord Draco stuck out his tongue at Lupin and then read the letter.

"'Headmaster, I have come across something quite interesting while going over Jean Barret's notebooks. He seems to believe that there is a code of sorts held in _The Averne_'. Wow, Bill has some really messy handwriting." Lord Draco nodded sagely and then continued. "'I have taken it upon myself', now how Gryffindor is that? 'I have taken it upon myself'." Lord Draco said the last in a snooty tone of voice which made him burst into laughter.

"Do you want to go back into the trunk?" asked Draco.

"I'll be good," Lord Draco promised. He read again. "'I have taken it upon myself to finish his work and have come up with the following. I would wish you to share this with Draco only if he isn't already over-worked.' Awww!"

"Lord Draco," said Draco, warningly.

"Fine, fine, fine. 'The translation reads as follows: The Descent, or the Submersion, an easy path. No doors bar the road, but Descend/Submerge only for Death. Life is not easily returned/retraced. The Road not by water, so diverged by men. A Mantle/Veil of water woven to mark the way. Descend/Submerge only for Death. Life may be saved, but only with a prayer, an offering, and the –

'That is all I have been able to translate as the remaining few words are in the chapter with the Persian Runes and I have yet to make heads or tails of it. Let me know what you think. Thank you, Bill'."

Lord Draco looked up at Draco. "Figured it out yet?" he asked.

Draco shook his head, frowning.

"The clue is in the title of the book."

"_The Averne_," said Draco. "Named for the ruler of the time, Avere."

Lord Draco sighed. "How are you ever going to conquer the world? Honestly, it's not that hard. The book isn't named for the king. It's something else."

"Since you figured it out right away it must mean that you came up with a different association for the word Averne, one that you would apply because you are, well, fear."

"More specifically, your fear of ruling and destroying the world," said Lord Draco.

"The Lake Avernus," said Draco.

"The supposed entrance to the Underworld," said Lord Draco. "How could you miss that one? Besides, it even says 'submerge' in the code. Submerge as in water. And submarines. I like submarines, especially ones that carry nukes."

"The 'diverged by men' line refers to the port that now lies in the Lake Avernus, a Muggle port. Before then, wizards lived by the shore. It was rumored that if one desired to bring a loved one back to life, they would have to enter the lake and go through a series of mazes and trials before proving themselves worthy. When the Muggles did move in, they said that the lady of the lake, a mystical being, wove a mantle out of the water so that the entrance to the underworld wouldn't be lost."

"And that is the mantle that it references," said Dumbledore. "Do you know what that is?"

"The Veil," said Lord Draco and Draco together. Lord Draco burst into giggles.

"See, we are the same!"

"The Veil in the Department of Mysteries," said Draco.

"Ugh," groaned Lord Draco. "When you rule the world, we're going to change that. I mean, 'the Department of Mysteries'? Cliché!"

"When I rule the world, I'll be sure to do that," said Draco.

Lord Draco smiled. "I'm holding you to it," he said, and downed another vial. He promptly became fascinated with his lace cuff, staring at it in wonderment and flicking at it.

"What would Voldemort want with the Veil?" asked Lupin.

Draco shrugged. "Anything that you know of inside of it?"

Lupin paled and Draco frowned. "What?" he asked.

"The end of fifth year," said Lupin. He swallowed roughly.

"What happened at the end of fifth year?" asked Draco.

"There was a battle at the Ministry. Sirius Black fell through the Veil. He was fighting Bellatrix at the time."

"Descend only for Death," whispered Lord Draco ominously. He then cackled wildly.

"Shut it," said Draco. "So, besides Sirius Black, whom I'm assuming the Dark Lord doesn't want, what's in the Veil?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't know."

"That's because you're an idiot," said Lord Draco, waving his hand around to watch the lace fluff out. "Power hunger mad men only want one thing." He stopped playing with his cuff and looked around. "Does anyone know what it is?"

"Power," said Draco.

"Not you!" said Lord Draco, slapping him away. "Someone who isn't a genius. Merde!"

"So he wants more power," said Draco. "How does the Veil help him there?"

"He doesn't want the Veil. He wants his Horcruxes, he's fixated on them. They are his power. Now all you have to do is figure out how the two are connected."

Draco turned to Dumbledore. "You said you had a list?"

"Nagini was one, so was the diary of Tom Riddle. Voldemort regained Nagini's horcrux, and the diary was destroyed, as was Marvolo Gaunt's ring. Voldemort also kept one Horcrux in his body, so that accounts for four. Last year, the one in the cup was destroyed so that leaves us with two left. I believe that one is in Hufflepuff's cup, and Slytherin's locket."

"Slytherin's locket?" asked Draco.

"You know where it is?"

"Regulus Black was said to have bragged that he owned it, but he was killed long ago, by Bellatrix actually." Draco frowned, thinking back to the few times he had seen his aunt. "She did wear a necklace, but I could only see the chain. She kept the rest hidden under her robe." He looked up suddenly. "Bellatrix was sent to Azkaban earlier this year. Something about her having displeased the Dark Lord."

"She had the necklace and didn't tell him?"

"I fail to see how that would make Voldemort so angry," said Draco. "None of the Death Eaters even know of Horcruxes in the first place."

"Maybe she lost the necklace," said Dumbledore.

"Or maybe she was fighting, and the necklace had come out of her robes and someone, in the act of falling, had grabbed onto it…,"

"Sirius could have grabbed onto the necklace before he fell, taking it with him through the Veil."

"Which is a plausible explanation," said Draco.

"That means that Barret figured out the code was related to the Veil and the wrong people found out. I'll have Bill look into who had contact with the Curator, someone with connections to the Death Eaters."

"Barret," said Lord Draco. "Barrrrret." He giggled, then frowned. "I have a niece?" he asked, looking up at Draco. "We have a niece?"

Draco closed his eyes briefly, trying to push back the nausea. He had pushed all thoughts of Laney away as far as he could, and had used Occlumency to hide her, but Lord Draco was smart. He was smart. He opened his eyes. "I have a niece," he said quietly.

Lord Draco grinned, his smile becoming twisted. "I killed her. _You_ killed her. Her and that Muggle whore!" He paused, the smile falling from his face, eyes going panicked.

He jumped off of the desk, stumbling away from the group, his face pale. He turned to Draco.

"I didn't," he said. "I would never hurt Laney. _Never_. You know that, I just, the potion, it was all the potion, and the Death Eaters had to be appeased. They had to know that I was truly with them, even if I was playing both sides but I never meant for that to happen. I swear, it wasn't supposed to happen. It's not my fault!" The last was a scream as Lord Draco tore at his hair, choking back a sob, or rather, choking back what passed as a sob from a boy who couldn't cry.

Draco swallowed hard. "I know," he said.

Lord Draco fumbled in his pockets, finally pulling out a vial and downing it again. He blinked and swayed, then turned back to Draco with the manic grin again.

"Actually, she was kind of obnoxious after a while. And she knew what I was doing, or at least, had an idea. Her and Sam. They were getting so…so judgmental. I really was going to keep them alive, I mean, come on, I am a genius here, I could have made it happen, but no, they had to be all disapproving and it just got me down. Merlin, the negativity was terrible. I mean, genius cannot blood under such conditions."

"Lord Draco, get in the trunk," said Draco.

The grin faded away.

"In the trunk," said Draco.

"I don't want to," said Lord Draco. "I like being us."

"In the trunk, _now_."

"You're stressed," said Lord Draco. "I have something to take care of that for you. It'll take all your worries away, of course, you already know that, and you know you want some."

"I don't want any," said Draco.

"Liar."

Draco sighed. "I want it but not enough to take it. Get in the trunk."

Lord Draco sighed. "Fine," he said. He got back in the trunk and began closing the lid, but he turned back to Draco. "You know," he said, "there's going to come a day, a day very soon where you won't be able to say no. And I'll be there, ready to be let out."

He laughed; the lid fell shut.

Draco let out a breath, running a hand through his hair and frowning when he felt the damp strands. He had been sweating? It wasn't that big of a deal.

"I have an essay to write," he announced to the room, not looking back at them. He gathered his bags and left the room. Dumbledore followed him, and Draco let the Headmaster catch up with him, but didn't look his way.

"Should I enquire about certain aspects of your Boggart?"

"Just ask Bill," said Draco wearily.

"You know, the fact that Lord Draco could withhold the pull to change into another fear is incredible. Your intellect has given a relatively mindless being the ability of thought. It also means your fear is that much more advanced than an average wizard, much more powerful. It would be an interesting study, sometime in the future, to see just what kind of capabilities your Boggart has."

"It would," said Draco. "But not now."

He felt the Headmaster's eyes on him, studying him, assessing him.

"Most assuredly not now," said Dumbledore. "Get some rest, Draco. Spending to much time dwelling on your fears is taxing, and in this case, especially for a genius."

----------------------------------------------------------

Bill spent the night after the raid on the Death Eater headquarters listening to the recordings of any trial dealing with Voldemort in hopes that he could recognize the voice of the Death Eater that got away.

The Death Eater who had been captured was Andre Lawley, a small time criminal, but he had been killed in the skirmish. The fall had caused a severe blow to the back of his head and an artery had ruptured, killing him within seconds.

Bill had heard twenty-seven recordings and five voices had sounded familiar, but he couldn't distinguish them any further. He didn't even know if the Death Eater was even among them.

Still, he was going to listen to more recordings just as soon as he took a break for breakfast and visited Julien. He was joined by Raul Abney and the two sat in silence by Julien's bed.

"I'm having a team go through the safe house," said Raul suddenly. "If Julien had been meeting a Death Eater unknowingly, he also may have been tagged with a tracking beacon."

"You don't really think he would be, do you?"

"Nah. Jules is a sharp kid, but it is regulation."

Bill nodded. "I think Dumbledore will be pulling me back anyway."

"Do you know about when?"

"A few days, probably. Just enough time to pack my stuff, that is, if your Aurors don't make a mess."

Raul laughed. "I've got Oswald and Reynolds on the case. They're both pretty neat."

"Glad to hear it," said Bill. He drank the rest of his coffee and then stood up. "I think I'll head back to the station. I want to listen to the tapes of Lawley's original arrest and then his parole hearings. I figure our second Death Eater might have been in the nearby vicinity."

"Good luck," said Raul.

Bill sat through two more hours of tape before he heard the voice of the other Death Eater and he signaled the attending Auror over.

"I think this is him," he said.

The Auror listened in. "That's not a criminal," he said, "that's the parole officer for Lawley."

"That's what I thought," said Bill. "Do you have records of who Lawley's parole officer was?"

"The case was some fifteen years ago," said the Auror, "but I can already tell you who it is just by listening. That's Auror Oswald."

Bill blinked and then ran out of the room, barging into Raul Abney's office.

"Who did you say was at the safe house?" he demanded.

"Reynolds and Oswald, why?"

"It's Oswald," said Bill. "That was the voice of the other Death Eater."

Raul stood. "Are you sure?" he asked urgently.

"Positive."

Raul shook his head. "I thought he was just volunteering for the job because he wanted to help. He wanted to get in, that was his reason." He grabbed his wand. "I trust you are trained in defense?"

"Well, yes, but shouldn't we take a team?" asked Bill.

"He's an Auror. He'll be expecting that and he'll know the warning signs. It's just you and me."

Bill nodded. "I can get us through the Floo, but I'll have to go first, to take down the wards on the other side."

"Let's do it."

Bill threw the powder into the flames, calling out 'the Safehouse' and then he stepped through.

He came out the other end and was immediately on the defensive, but there was no one in the den, or at least, no one alive. Two bodies in red Auror robes were lying on the floor, eyes still open, but absolutely still.

Bill turned the hands of the clock on the mantle to twelve o'clock, disabling the ward on the fireplace, and then he checked the Aurors for signs of life. They were both cold to the touch; they had been Kedavra'ed and their badges identified them as Reynolds and Oswald. Someone didn't want the Auror turned Death Eater talking.

Bill heard a scuffle in the other room and he stepped over the bodies, wand at the ready. He peeked around the corner to see a figure in black robes shuffling through the desk, already holding the green journals and a stack of other parchment.

Bill felt a hand on his arm and he turned to see Raul beside him.

'Now!' Raul mouthed and they stepped into the adjacent room.

"Freeze!" Raul shouted. "We are the Aurors. Put down the papers and put your hands above your head."

The figure turned and Bill gaped.

"You?" he demanded.

"Hello, Professor," said Claire Jameson. "Give my regards to Draco, will you?"

Raul was already shouting out a spell, but Claire grabbed her necklace and a Portkey pulled her out of existence.

Bill ran forward, searching through his desk, hoping to find that the second drawer was full, but only the wood bottom stared back at him.

"No, damn it," he muttered, searching through the other papers that lined the desk, but it was no use. "Shit!" he yelled, spinning from the table and running a hand through his hair.

"What is it?" asked Raul, looking on in worry.

"She took the letters," said Bill. "The letters my contact and I were exchanging. The _translated_ letters."

"She knows who your contact is," said Raul.

"Worse," said Bill. "I think she knows what he is."

"I don't follow," said Raul.

"Let's put it this way," said Bill, "what seventeen year old do you know that has translated an entire set of Ancient Runes that was thought to be undecipherable by every expert in the linguistic field?"

---------------------------------------------------

So, tomorrow I've got a statistics' test, a presentation in Spanish, and a chapter to present in psychology. I'm obviously overworked, so I think I should get a review from you to make my day more bearable. Please?

**Tdei (in response to the amazing logical argument in your review):** I suppose I should try to clarify my argument a little bit in hopes to at least salvage a part of it. Snape is saying that in order to define romantical love, and to prove its existence, it has to be experienced. A blind man will have the concept of color, just as Draco has the concept of love (through his relationship with Laney, Bill, etc.). While a blind man understands that color is due to light waves bending and occipital nerves and what not, it is impossible for him to _know_ blue or purple (i.e. he cannot recognize it, experience it, or prove that it exists). It can also not really be explained to him.  
Snape holds that love (true love, soul mates, etc) is like color. Someone who does not experience it, can only understand the concept, and so for Draco to say that he has the authority on the subject, and to say that it doesn't exist, is incorrect and presumptuous, nor can he really understand love, not until he has it or 'sees'. A person that is blind cannot be trusted to tell colors apart, nor can they prove that color exists, just as Draco is unable to disprove, or correctly categorize, love. Love is, after all, an emotion. Emotions can be recorded and explained and studied so that we can know the effect and cause of them, but until we feel them ourselves, do we honestly understand them, or are we just understanding their concepts and definitions?  
As for hues, there must be a color perfectly in between blue and purple, but it would be impossible to get that exact hue as we don't have a set standard for colors. Because of this, people will always argue about those blue-violet colors….I don't know if I've really answered your argument though. It was really good.  
Random question: Are you a behaviorist psychologist or are you familiar with their research, because your argument is vaguely reminiscient of them.


	16. Discovery and Decisions

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would pay people to type my stories for me so my fingers wouldn't cramp up. My fingers are cramping up, hence I do not own Harry Potter.

**Bena24**: I'm sorry to say that Lord Draco is done for this story, but he will make an appearance in the third. Promise. Thanks!  
**Faith****Maguire: **Yes, I do reiterate Draco's genius a lot (sry!). I keep forgetting that each chapter is not a new story…as for shortness, well, this ones a little short too, but it's a build-up chapter. Thanks.  
**Anna**: Are you caught up yet? Hope you enjoy it.  
**R2D2**: Eww, biochem? Sounds nasty, but I bet Draco's good at it. How did your test go? Thanks for reviewing!  
**Conngirl89**: Nah, Claire's not after any gain except getting in the good with Voldemort. She'll tell him everything. Glad to hear you like the story. Thanks for the review.  
**Sanjs**: Thanks for wishing me luck, I think I did alright. And I hope you do get rich, because I will so write stories for you, lol. Thanks!  
**RainyStar**: I've been in a few stage performances, and the show week sucks because the other teachers just don't seem to get that you don't have any time what so ever for homework. Hope it went well and thanks!  
**Lilith**: There is something hot about bad boys, I definitely agree with you there, and I really do think that RAB is Regulus, just because it makes sense.  
**Mask**: Stats are nasty, but then you won't have to take it in college!  
**Spyrit**: Hey, it's fine. I understand perfectly the pressures of school and what not. And I do love Lord Draco, but – actually, I just dropped my laptop while writing that, oops. But Freddie's still alive, don't worry, I will get around to posting this chapter sometime tonight.  
**Freyalyn**: I actually have started keeping an outline, just because I have to figure out what is going where and it was getting kinda complicated, but it's fairly straight forward now. Thanks!  
**Drewberry: **Yup, Claire killed Oswald, simply because he knew too much and because he could be a liability. And she knew it was Bill because there were names on the letters that were decoded. Thanks

---------------------------------------------------

Draco was woken early in the morning by a knock on his door and he groaned because, as it was Saturday, he had been hoping to sleep in. The last few days had been trying, more so than trying, and he just needed to take a day off. Apparently, it was not to be today.

Draco rolled out of bed and crossed to the door, pulling it open to find none other than Harry Potter standing nervously in the doorway.

"The hell?" Draco managed, swiping a hand over his eyes in an attempt to wake up. Normally he would be wide awake at the intrusion, but he was physically and mentally drained.

"I need to talk to you," said Harry.

"Apparently," said Draco. "Couldn't it wait?"

"No."

Draco sighed. "I'll be down in a minute."

He shut the door in Potter's face and then leaned back against it. What could Potter honestly need at six in the morning on a Saturday? Still, Potter seemed to think it was important, so Draco supposed he should at least hear what the Gryffindor had to say.

He pulled on some clothes and then went the bathroom to splash water on his face. Feeling much more awake, he walked down the stairs to see Harry and Hermione seated on the couch and he resisted the urge to turn around and go back to bed.

He collapsed in his armchair and surveyed them. "What?" he asked, rather testily.

Harry hesitated and Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand. That seemed to encourage the Gryffindor who looked him in the eyes.

"Remember over the summer when you came to pick me up?"

"Yes."

"And do you remember what we talked about? About how I knew you were safe to trust because I saw you refuse the Dark Lord?"

Draco knew, from Hermione's lack of a response that Harry must have told her, and he frowned.

"Get to the point."

"I had another dream last night," said Harry. "Or a vision, or whatever it is that they call it. It concerned you."

Draco arched an eyebrow and merely waited for Harry to continue.

"In it was the student teacher from last year, the one that turned out to be a Death Eater. She had a bunch of letters or something, and she said that they were written in code and that you and Bill Weasley were writing to each other and sending information."

Draco frowned, sitting forward. "Did she have anyone with her? Was there an attack?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "She kept referring to spies and contacts. It was hard to follow."

"She was referring to a Ministry-run operation where information is sent through a variety of contacts and codes to keep the Death Eaters in the dark about what we know," said Draco. "My contact was Bill Weasley, now I need to know, did she say something about an attack or a raid or anything?"

Harry shook his head. "She just said she broke into the safe house and grabbed the papers, that was it."

Draco nodded, feeling a sharp relief at the news that Bill was probably still okay.

"You're not supposed to be able to tell him that," said Hermione. "You swore you wouldn't say anything."

"I swore," said Draco, "but my name isn't my own anymore, not since I've gotten disowned so it didn't apply."

"There was something else," said Harry. "She was talking about the language you used. She said it was supposed to be indecipherable, that no one had been able to translate it. She seems to think that you did."

Draco felt the beginning of fear creep into the back of his mind; the Dark Lord was smart and he must have realized Draco had cracked that code. It wasn't just that the Dark Lord knew; it was that soon other people would know, and he wouldn't have anymore control. The secret, that he had only just begun to feel comfortable with hinting at, was going to be blown wide open.

"She thinks that I cracked it, you mean," he said, going for the nonchalant.

"She thinks that; _Voldemort_ thinks that."

Draco scoffed, his instincts kicking in, the denial already forming on his lips, but Harry spoke over him.

"He thinks you're a genius."

Draco paused. "What?"

"Voldemort. When I have these dreams, I'm _him_. He thinks that you translated that material because he used Legilimency on Bill before, and he knows that he couldn't have translated it, or at least, not in another ten years. He's seen you though, and met you. It makes sense to him because you answered his questions right, and you withstood the crucio, and because you're father's smart."

Draco didn't answer. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Are you?" asked Harry. "I know you're smart, but are you really some sort of genius?"

Draco opened his eyes and stared at the Gryffindor.

"Does it really matter?" he asked.

"Yes," said Harry.

The Common Room door opened and Dumbledore rushed in, followed by Snape. They stopped when they saw the three students by the fire. Draco noted the letter held in Dumbledore's hands, knowing it must be from Bill. Honestly, why did the former Professor always write Dumbledore in these cases and not send the letter directly to him? It wasn't like he couldn't handle the information, though he supposed Bill wanted the information to be broken to him gently and that was something rather difficult to do in a letter.

"I already found out," he said to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore looked somewhat startled and Snape was frowning so Draco explained.

"Potter had a vision about the Dark Lord. Claire Jameson was in it and she had the letters Bill and I exchanged."

"And Voldemort?" asked Dumbledore, looking at Harry who knew what the Dark Lord knew, but Draco spoke up.

"He knows. He figured it out, figured _me_ out."

There was silence in which Draco sat back in the chair, concentrating on only letting one thought cross his mind at a time. He needed to remain calm, to think objectively.

"You don't have to stay here," said Dumbledore. "I can arrange for you to take the NEWTs now, and then you can be moved into the Order Headquarters. You wouldn't have to join if you didn't want to."

"I'm staying here," said Draco.

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged looks; so did Harry and Hermione. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Draco," Dumbledore began, "Tom does not like to be lied to."

"Does anyone?"

"He will take this personally. He is not one to accept failure."

"Neither am I."

"He knows that you translated the runes. He'll be after you to gain the rest of the instructions on how to pull the Horcrux from the Veil."

"I know."

"He knows of a cloak that can get him inside of Hogwarts."

"And when he takes it, we'll know to be on guard."

"Draco, you are in danger here."

"So is Potter and you're letting him stay here."

"He will only go after Harry when he thinks he can defeat him. To get more power he needs you, and in your belief that you can take care of yourself, you will only be more vulnerable."

"I've been eluding him my entire life."

"But this time he will be using your father against you."

That last sentence was followed by a silence in which Draco lifted a hand to rub his temples.

"Draco," said Snape gently. "Lucius is loyal to the Dark Lord. He will help him."

"I know," said Draco, the words coming out more quietly than he liked.

"Lucius is exceptionally sharp, and you are his son. He will tell the Dark Lord to go after Laney if need be."

"Then get Laney out of here," said Draco. "Send her to the bloody safe house."

"I have sent a letter to Samantha," said Dumbledore. "I am waiting her reply, but for now, we need to discuss what you will be doing. You are of age; I cannot send you from the school, but I do recommend it."

Draco was silent for a moment, his brows furrowed, but then he shook his head. "I refuse to be intimidated by him."

"Don't be a bloody Gryffindor," said Snape. "Leaving is your best option. The one that will keep you alive."

"We're all going to die eventually, and, for most of us, sooner rather than later as there is a war going on."

Dumbledore studied him, and Draco stared right back, raising an eyebrow at the Headmaster.

"You think that if you are kidnapped by Voldemort, you could escape," said Dumbledore.

Draco flushed, ever so slightly. The Headmaster's statement wasn't exactly what he had been thinking, but it was close enough. "He knows that I've cracked the code, not everything else. He has a habit of underestimating people, and I don't doubt that I'll be one of them."

"This is foolishness, Draco," said Snape.

"It appears to be foolishness to you because you can't understand my reasoning."

"And now the arrogance sets in, the belief that you can't be fooled or outsmarted. I'll have you know, Lucius is prey to that same fault as well."

"Lucius isn't as smart as I am."

"No, but he, and the Dark Lord, have been alive for far more time than you have. You may be smarter, but they have experience on their side."

"I'm not leaving the school. That is my decision and it is final. Now if you don't mind, I'm exhausted, and it's way too early in the morning. So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to bed."

Draco got up and started up the stairs, but then he turned around. "I trust you are pulling the other contacts and spies out of the field, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I thought you would be able to speak of the operation without consequences. Yes, we are pulling them out. Now that Voldemort knows what we are doing, he will be able to spot our operatives."

Draco nodded. "Good. And good day."

With that he turned around and started back up to his room.

He did not go back to bed, but rather took a shower and dressed. Once he was up, he was usually up for the day, and even if he had the ability to fall back asleep, he doubted he would after receiving information like that. The Dark Lord knew he was a genius, which meant that the Dark Lord would be coming after him.

Still, a unique opportunity had presented itself at this time. The code in _The Averne _spoke of what was needed to make the Veil passable, but as of yet it was incomplete. Draco was sure that the last bit would cite an ancient artifact that was needed, as most ancient rituals required. He needed to figure out the last of the code before Voldemort came because then he could set up some sort of alert system. This way, when he did tell Voldemort what was needed, and the Death Eaters went to retrieve the items, the Aurors would be forewarned, and could track the Death Eaters back to the Headquarters. Draco could hold out until the Aurors came, besides, Voldemort would need him to translate, and he wouldn't risk harming Draco.

Then again, the Dark Lord must know that Bill could read the runes, and Bill was smart, and could probably translate to the second dialect as well. He probably also knew, as Bill and Draco were writing letters, and as Claire no doubt had told him that Bill and Draco had been working together after class last year, that Draco and Bill had formed some sort of friendship, which meant that Bill could be used against Draco as well as Laney. Draco grimaced and then opened his door intent on starting to translate the Persian dialects.

It was a good thing it was the weekend because Draco didn't think he would be able to concentrate on anything besides the runes. He had to translate through the fourth and third dialects before making his way to the second and the work was intricate and time-consuming. He worked straight through lunch without realizing it, and once he had, he worked until dinner.

Blaise frowned when Draco joined him at the table for the evening meal.

"I haven't seen you all day," he said.

"I'm busy," said Draco shortly.

Blaise was silent and merely watched his friend shovel food into his mouth.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Missed lunch," said Draco, in between bites.

"How'd you manage that one? It's the weekend."

"I'm working on a project."

"And is this one of those projects that require a certain high level of intelligence that you don't really like to talk about?"

Draco dropped his fork and he turned to face Blaise. "What?" His tone was cold.

Blaise shrugged. "You do realize that we have lived together for six years in the same dorm, and of those boys, I am the only one that really talked to you?"

"The point?"

"You read advanced texts for fun. You're obviously really smart."

For some reason Draco felt like throwing something, or screaming, or, better yet, hexing someone. Did everyone know his secret now? Did he have any privacy whatsoever? Why did people insist on figuring these things out about him and then refuse to inform him of their insight?

He turned back to his meal, not deigning to respond to Blaise and then leaving right after he ate. He hadn't even gotten the fourth dialect translated, and he wanted to have it done as soon as possible.

He actually succeeded in translating the fourth dialect by Sunday night, but only because the dialects turned out to be quite similar, something he was thankful for. He didn't know when the Dark Lord was going to attack, and that knowledge kept him continuously on guard. It was because of that strain that he nearly pulled his wand on the figure sitting in his Common Room when he walked in late that night.

"Whoa," said Bill Weasley. "It's just me."

Draco frowned, letting go of his wand and walking further into the room.

"What are you doing here?"

"No, 'hello, Bill, it's good to see you'?"

"Hello, Bill, it's good to see you. What are you doing here?"

Bill laughed and stepped forward to pull Draco into a hug, which Draco bore with ill grace.

"Did Dumbledore send for you?" he asked, crossing to his armchair and sinking into it. Bill took the chair across from him.

"He may have said something about being worried for your safety."

"And I suppose you've come to tell me that I should skip off to the Order as well?"

Bill shrugged, looking extremely unabashed. "I think it's a good idea," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes; Bill leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"Look, Draco, Voldemort will come specifically for you."

"And if he doesn't find me here?" asked Draco. "Then what?"

"There is an evacuation plan in place," said Bill.

"Then I can get out fine."

"Look, Draco, it's not as if retreating is a bad thing to do sometimes."

"I know. I am a Slytherin."

"Then why are you staying?"

Draco hesitated slightly and Bill groaned, sitting back and running a hand through his hair.

"Don't tell me you have some sort of plan that involves you being kidnapped by Voldemort."

Draco didn't answer, but his silence spoke for him.

"Draco, he's called the Dark Lord for a reason. He'll kill you."

"He can't kill me," said Draco. "I have to translate for him."

"You know what I mean," said Bill. "He'll hurt you, torture you, to prove a point."

"Why can't you just trust me on this?"

"Because someone has to look out for you, and using yourself as bait some crazy scheme that I can't quite follow isn't sounding too smart."

"It is," said Draco.

Bill rolled his eyes; Draco frowned.

"Draco," Bill began, and then he stopped. He sighed. "Alright, what's the plan?"

"I figure out, before the Dark Lord comes, what else is needed for the Horcrux removal from the Veil. Then, when I do get caught by the Dark Lord and when I do give him the list of what is needed, Aurors or Order members can be watching said items, and follow them back to the headquarters."

"I like this idea better. We get you and Laney somewhere safe. You decode the runes. We figure out how to pull the Horcrux out and do it ourselves and then destroy the Horcrux."

"Because my way not only would we get the Horcrux, but we will also be taking out a portion of the Dark Lord's army."

"But my way we wouldn't be risking one of the greatest assets we have against Voldemort."

"Flattered, I'm sure," said Draco dryly.

Bill pinched the bridge of his nose; Draco wondered why he was getting so frustrated. His plan had the best outcome.

"Draco," said Bill seriously. "There are so many things that could go wrong with your plan, and I do not want to leave you stranded with Voldemort and a house full of Death Eaters. It's too risky."

"If anything goes too badly, Snape will know, and then he can tell the Order. I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Right, and while we're thinking, the Dark Lord can just crucio you to death. Excellent plan, Draco."

Draco ignored that last bit. "We'll have to take certain precautions. I want Laney to be moved to the safe house, as well as Samantha. You should stay there as well, as well as the rest your family too. The Dark Lord probably knows that you and I get along, and I don't want to be forced into doing anything."

Bill seemed to get angry at that last bit.

"Oh, so I can stay at the Order but you can go and throw yourself at the Dark Lord?"

Draco frowned. "I'm just saying-," he started, but Bill cut him off.

"Don't you think that's a bit of a double standard? I can hide, but you can't?"

"I can take care of myself, Bill. If other people are put into the equation, then things could get complicated."

"Draco, you can't do this all by yourself."

"Can't I? I seem to be doing a pretty good job in facing down the Dark Lord so far."

"But you couldn't seem to make up your mind about Voldemort by yourself."

That was a low blow, and Bill knew it. Draco glared and walked over to the fireplace. He heard Bill sigh behind him.

"I didn't mean that."

"Of course you did. Isn't that why you said it?"

"Fine. I did mean it. It's the truth and you know it."

"So what? Out of gratitude I'm supposed to do your every bidding? Follow your every order out of some warped life-debt? We're even, I'll have you know."

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying that you need to realize you can't to everything on your own."

Draco bit back a frustrated groan. "Why is everyone saying that?" he demanded. "I'm doing things on my own because that's the way I have been doing them for seventeen years now and it has worked fine, only for some reason, now everyone has it in their heads that they have to look after me and provide back up and support!"

"You've been doing that for seventeen years because for that long you've been playing your own side."

"I'm still playing my own side."

"But now your path has brought you alongside the Order, and we're going to give you support because that is the way all of us are most likely to survive this war, and that's not exactly a bad thing."

"I don't want your support."

"But maybe you need it."

"_Maybe_ I don't."

"Stop being so difficult, Draco."

"I'm being difficult? The whole lot of you is being difficult. You all just think you know best, don't you?"

"There is no arguing with you, is there?"

"Not when I'm right."

"Merlin curse that mind of yours, because it's going to get you killed one of these days. When will you accept that sometimes we may have a point, that we may have the right idea?"

"When it becomes so glaringly obvious that I can't ignore it, and when even I can't think of anything else to attribute it to."

"Damn it, Draco. We're worried about you."

"Get over it," Draco snapped back.

His comment was met with silence, but Draco knew that his retort hadn't been warranted. He sighed and walked back down to his seat, dropping into it and running a hand through his hair.

"It's my decision, and I think it's the best option there is. I'm not a Gryffindor, so don't think for a minute that I'm going to put myself in any unnecessary danger. This is just too good of an opportunity to pass up on."

Bill sighed, but in a defeated kind of way. "I'm holding you to that," he said. "And I want you to take a Portkey with you, just in case something goes bad."

"There will be wards up against portkeys."

"You're a genius. You'll figure a way to get the wards down."

Draco smirked. "I'll take a Portkey," he agreed.

"And you use it, if something goes wrong."

"Sure."

"Swear it."

"Don't trust me, Bill?"

"Not on your life." The humor was grim.

"I swear, if something goes wrong, I'll use the Portkey."

"Good," said Bill. He smiled at Draco. "I take it your not enjoying all the attention?"

Draco merely gave him a look. Bill laughed.

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The glass of brandy was held in strong fingers, but the grasp was somewhat lax, as if the brandy had been forgotten. The figure holding the expensive crystal glass was sitting on an expensive gold brocade armchair. Sitting was the wrong word, but lounging inferred a sense of laziness and sprawling was too undignified. Reclined might be closer to the truth of it, but the armchair was relatively straight-backed.

Either way, the manner in which the figure sat was a position which invoked an image of relaxation, but yet there was also a sense of unspoken power which caused all who approached him to immediately be on their guard, or rather, if anyone approached him, but no one was.

The hand holding the brandy shifted, and the firelight caught the amber liquid and bounced off, sending a few spots of reflected light to dance along the Oriental rugs that lined the floor, adding to their intricate patterns. The man finally seemed to remember the brandy, because he took a sip and then his cold grey gaze returned to the fire.

The door behind him opened, and the grey eyes slid up to the mirror lying on the mantle and then returned back to the flames. The intruder did not seem to be affected by the man's daunting aura, for he radiated his own, one of darkness, but neither did the seated man shrink from the other's presence.

"Lucius," said the man.

Lucius Malfoy raised the glass to his lips once again, taking another sip.

The man walked closer and Lucius looked up at the mirror once more, meeting Voldemort's red gaze reflected in the glass.

"Milord," he said mildly. His tone said nothing of inner turmoil or conflict, nor did his eyes reflect any disconcert. Then again, there simply may not have been any conflict to hide. No one could ever tell what the Malfoy patriarch was actually feeling, not even the Dark Lord.

"Your son is quite the…unexpected."

The Dark Lord's tone was equal mild. They could have been discussing the weather.

Lucius tilted his head in response, though be it a nod of acquisition to a point, or the acceptance of a compliment, it was impossible to tell. Lucius drained the rest of the brandy and then stood, crossing over to the liquor cabinet kept on a polished mahogany table. He set the used glass down gently; it was part of an expensive set. He turned to his visitor.

"Brandy?" he inquired. "Or perhaps a bourbon?"

"Whatever you think is best," responded his guest. It was an unspoken challenge, one that Lucius had played many a time. It was not an easy thing, keeping the position of right hand man to a ruthless dictator. Still, Lucius had remained so ever since he was promoted to the rank of advisor and confidante of the Dark Lord. He was a Malfoy, and no one else could over take him when it came to power plays, not even when he was handicapped by a dissenting son.

He poured an inch of whiskey in another crystal tumbler and then handed it to the Dark Lord, who took it with a slight smile, though not one of amusement.

"You do realize, Lucius, that I will kill your son."

Another test. To say 'Yes, milord, go ahead' would be to endorse an unwise action. Any man who could translate the Persian Runes would be a welcome ally, willing or not. To say 'Please, milord, not my son' would be to deny the Dark Lord.

Lucius walked back to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself another half-inch of brandy.

"My son is already dead, milord," he said, his voice even and collected. "Who is it you speak of?"

The Dark Lord seemed pleased with his answer; he always was.

"I need information, Lucius, on your late son. How is it you never noticed his potential?"

Ah, there was the question. It had been turning over in his own mind so many times.

"I do not claim to be a particularly attentive father. I consider my business to be my first and foremost concern. Perhaps it was unwise to not form a stronger connection with him, perhaps I could have prevented such circumstances, but what is done, is done."

"You never suspected."

"I knew he was intelligent, and took pride in his work, but no. He was a Malfoy, first and foremost, before he was anything else."

"Will he run from Hogwarts now that I know what he is?"

"No. He will be there. If he is anything, he is confident in his abilities."

"And what inspiration with he need to translate the runes for me?"

"He is no doubt already translating them now in hopes to get the Horcrux first."

"That is no matter. I already have the cloak and I can attack anytime I need to."

"Then I would suggest taking others as well. He has denounced you, no doubt out of some new found moral belief. He would not be able to withstand the suffering of others, not when he can prevent it."

"You believe this?"

"He would not wish to be the murderer of children."

"His niece perhaps?"

"Do not take the girl."

"No? Is this some affection I detect? Are you fearful that your name will not be carried on, so you resort to a Half-blood of illegitimacy?"

"He will be sure to get his niece away from the attack. Going after her would merely waste time. Other children will produce the same results."

"Very well, I shall trust your judgment. He is, after all, your son."

Lucius watched the Dark Lord leave and then poured an additional inch of brandy in his glass before retiring to his chair once more to think. Yes, that was the trouble, wasn't it? He was his son.

Still, he had made his choices, and Lucius had made his. His son was dead; both were dead.

It was easier to think that way with the brandy.

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Well, that's all folks (for now). I think, not next chapter, but the chapter after will be the attack on Hogwarts, so things are picking up!


	17. The Evacuation

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I could pay someone to take my tests for me, which is sounding so lovely right now.

Author's note: So, I said the attack on Hogwarts in two chapters. I lied. It's in this chapter, so stop reading this note and go read the chapter. I mean it. Stop reading this. Right now….lol.

**Freyalyn**: Noted on the 'figured out'. I shall, when I re-vamp the series, fix that. And I actually did picture Harry with his hand over Hermione's mouth when Draco revealed he avoided the spell. I'm glad you like the Lucius portrayal, and yes, arrogant Draco is hot. That's why I write him like that (smiles!).  
**Lilith**: LOL! I'm sorry, but there is Blaise in this one and an explanation. And you know that there is a part, a very small part, but a part none the less that actually likes the D/G pairing. Anyway, I don't know how many chapters are in this one. I know that it ends, but chapterwise, umm, ummm, ten more maybe? So around thirty. We'll see.  
**R2D2**: I hope you did okay on the test even though there wasn't a Draco to help you. And of course the plan will go wrong, just cuz it's more exciting that way. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Faith****Maguire**: I like those reasons for reviewing, lol. And yes, Draco is getting a bit snotty, but hey, there has to be something wrong with him, right? Thanks for the review!  
**Anna**: Glad you caught up, and that you're excited for the next chapter. I've started writing ahead because I find writing them a blast, so I hope that means they're really good.  
**Sanjs**: Hope you feel better. If so, here's a chapter to celebrate, if not, well, you can just sit and read and feel miserable. Hope you feel better soon!  
**Mask**: Alliteration is catchy….see you soon!

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It seemed as if everything that could be shoved into a week was. Draco had four tests as well as a ridiculously long essay due in Transfigurations, and he needed to get an E on this essay which meant that he couldn't write it while translating the Persian runes.

Potions wasn't much easier, and they were brewing complex elixirs for the entire two hours they were in class, so that Draco couldn't do any of his homework for other classes while making the potion.

There was also the knowledge that the Dark Lord had yet to retrieve the cloak of Merlin, and Draco didn't know what the self-proclaimed lord was waiting for. He had tried to think of reasons why the Dark Lord might be waiting to steal the cloak, but he had drawn a complete black. That only added pressure on top of everything else, and he had just managed to finish the fourth dialect by Monday morning. He had two more to go.

He was spending all of his extra time on the runes, knowing that finding the rest of the code, and consequentially, the artifacts needed for the ritual was key right now. Once he knew the artifacts, then he could have Dumbledore warn the Aurors, and then it was a simple matter of acting and fooling the Dark Lord and making sure not to get killed while he was the prisoner of the Death Eaters. But everything was resting on him translating the rest of the code. If he didn't have that, plan A wouldn't work, and there was no plan B.

He knew Dumbledore was getting concerned about his work ethic. It consisted of late nights, finally grabbing two or three hours of sleep at around three in the morning and then he was up again to do his homework for class and squeezing in another half-hour or so on the runes. Then it was breakfast, where Draco made sure that Laney was going to be okay. Samantha didn't want Laney to be anywhere that Draco was not, something which actually made Draco consider going to the safe house, but he settled for planning out every conceivable escape plan for the girl.

After the morning meal, which consisted of coffee and some toast, he would go to class, during which he slept when he could, and when he couldn't, he worked on the runes again. He worked through lunch, taking a sandwich back to the Common Room where he might actually eat it while pulling more work on the runes. He worked on the runes during his afternoon classes as well, and then he worked straight to dinner where he would check on Laney again.

In the evening, Granger and/or Potter would join him in the Common Room, dropping hints about how he should take a break now and then. When even their bickering couldn't keep him awake, he would take a shower, drink another cup of coffee, and work until late.

McGonagall was hell to deal with whenever she caught him sleeping or working on the runes. He wondered what she would say if he finally lost it and admitted that he was trying to translate runes so that he could undermine the Dark Lord.

Defense class was much better. Lupin knew what was going on and he had excused Draco from class because the spell they were studying was proven to cause migraines to a select few and Draco was, at least for the week, one of those unfortunate souls. Draco's opinion of the werewolf teacher rose a good deal.

Even so, it was Thursday now and Draco was almost done with the third dialect, which meant there was only one more to go after that, which was good. The Dark Lord hadn't taken the cloak yet, but he must be getting near to it.

While he was loath to admit it, Draco was…anxious. He was constantly checking up on Laney, without her knowing of course, and every loud, sudden noise made him tense up, hand going for his wand. He told himself that such a response was only human, but he felt as if he shouldn't exactly be susceptible to common human failings, such as anxiety and, well, there was no other word for it, fear.

He knew that it was wise to fear the Dark Lord, and that if he hadn't been feeling some sort of concern or heightened tension, something was decidedly wrong with him. Still, he felt that if this had happened last year, before he got used to talking about things with other people, and before certain Gryffindorish traits rubbed off on him, he would have handled this better. He had changed ever since he had befriended Bill, and right now, he was wondering if that was a bad thing.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, wondering if he should send for another pot of coffee, or if he should try to take a shower to wake him up. He decided on the coffee.

He was in the Common Room so all he had to do was put a coffee mug on the table and it would disappear to the kitchens, only to come back filled and with a platter full of biscuits, which was one of the best parts about being Head Boy. He ignored the snacks and merely sipped at the coffee, waiting for it to cool while he studied the language sheets in front of him.

He had figured out the verb conjugations for the third but he was having some difficulties with the – oh. He must really be tired to miss that. Draco picked up his quill and scribbled down a few notes and then pulled out another clean sheet of parchment and wrote out the rules to the third dialect.

One more to go.

He immediately started on the second, and last, dialect, knowing that he was close, but the anticipation and the strain of the week were catching up with him. By Friday morning, even though he had worked all night, he had only managed to muddle up the pronoun difference of the dialects which should have only taken him four hours tops. Now, he was worse off than when he started.

He went down to Potions early to tell Snape he would be skipping the session on the counter to Veritaserum that evening. He made sure his uniform completely immaculate in order to make up for his haggard appearance, but the Head of Slytherin wasn't even remotely fooled.

Snape had taken one look at him and had frowned.

"I won't be able to make this evening's session," said Draco, before the Potions Professor could say anything.

"Working on the runes?" asked Snape.

Draco nodded. "Almost there. Has the Dark Lord spoken of going after the cloak yet?"

"Not as of yet, but I doubt he would tell anyone who was not needed for the retrieval. He has been increasingly silent as of late, which is always a precursor to particularly large attacks."

Draco grimaced, knowing that Snape was right. He then stifled a yawn and had to blink rapidly to clear the clouds away from his vision.

"You've been working too hard," said Snape.

"I have to get the translations done."

"Or you could just go to the safe house."

Draco shook his head and the Potions Master sighed.

"You are in no condition to work with volatile substances. Not when you're half asleep already."

"I'm fine."

"We're working on a fusion potion today in class. You'll have to sit this class out."

"I'm fine," said Draco again.

"You've been up practically all week, don't think I haven't noticed. One wrong slip in this class and you'll destroy the classroom and most of your classmates with it."

"I'm not going to slip up," said Draco, stifling another yawn and blinking forcefully because his eyes were feeling dry and his vision was going again.

"I don't care how smart you are, not even a genius can fight off exhaustion. You will not be participating in the class work."

"I'll take a wakening potion."

"Only to have it hit you twice as hard when it wears off?"

Draco sighed. "Fine. I'll sit out. Happy?"

"No. I could use you making the potion to keep your classmates from blowing themselves up."

"Then let me make the potion," said Draco.

Snape hesitated and Draco raised an eyebrow. Snape slid his chair back.

"Come with me."

Draco followed Snape to the side door, the one that led to Snape's private office. Snape shut the door behind them and then crossed over to his desk.

Draco looked about the room while Snape rummaged through his desk drawers. There was a pleasant fire roaring in the grate, and a comfortable looking black sofa with a matching armchair. The desk was farther back with a great chair behind it.

Snape pulled out a vial and handed it to Draco.

"Take this," he said.

Draco took the vial, noting the red-orange color and then raising an eyebrow at Snape.

"A wakefulness inducer," he said.

"A wakefulness inducer won't make you crash as hard as the others. Just don't tell Dumbledore; he thinks you ought to be locked in your room until you've had a decent amount of sleep. I just don't want my class to end in exploding cauldrons."

Draco smirked and pulled the cap off. "I won't tell," he promised.

He downed the potion in one swallow because he knew that they tasted like something dead, but then he frowned, staring up at Snape as the distinct after-taste of raspberries filled his mouth.

"You lied," he managed.

Snape shrugged. "I never said it _was_ a wakefulness inducer."

Draco tried to fight back the potion, but it was futile. He was barely holding back his exhaustion as it was and the sleep-aid made the world go fuzzy even as he stood there. The vial slipped from his fingers to shatter on the floor, and he would have followed, but then Snape was there, guiding his stumbling steps to the couch. Draco was aware that the couch was as comfortable as it looked, and then he was face down on the cushions and his eyes were closing.

He woke up when someone entered later that day and he groaned, blinking open his eyes to see Snape arching a brow in his direction.

"What time is it?" Draco asked, pushing himself into a sitting position and rubbing his eyes blearily.

"Almost three in the afternoon," said Snape. "Afternoon classes are about finished, and I figured you would like to continue working on your runes. I had you excused from your classes today as you were not feeling well. I trust you are feeling marginally better?"

"Yeah," said Draco, stretching and then standing up. He had to bite back a yawn as his body reminded him that seven-hour napping spree did not make up for a week's worth of missed REM. He looked up at Snape. "I suppose I should thank you, although next time I would just like the news that I'm excused from classes."

"If I just excused you from classes, you would have worked on your runes, which was not the point in letting you skive off."

"I'm never taking a potion you give me again without testing it first."

"If you had been thinking clearly, and more alert, you would have noticed the smell and thinness of the potion in the first place. Sleep deprivation does not benefit a Slytherin."

"Noted," said Draco. He nodded to the Potions Master and then left the room, heading back to his dorm and pulling out his translations and looking at them with fresh, alert eyes. The nap had helped and he started on the pronouns.

It was during dinner, a dinner that Draco was actually eating at, that Dumbledore came in late. It usually was nothing new, as not all of the teachers came down at the same time, but the expression on the Headmaster's face made Draco pause.

The blue eyes, that were not twinkling today, locked onto his and the minutest of head nods was gestured to the door. Then the Headmaster patted down his robes and frowned, as if he had forgotten something, and he left again.

Draco waited a few moments before excusing himself as well and walking out of the Great Hall. The Headmaster was waiting for him outside and he led Draco down a little-used hallway.

"Has the Dark Lord taken the cloak?" asked Draco.

"He has," Dumbledore confirmed.

"Today?" asked Draco.

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid we don't know."

"What?" asked Draco.

"I thought it was taking Tom too long to make a move, so I had the Aurors examine the cloak. The one in the tomb was a fake, somehow Voldemort managed to switch the cloaks without alerting the Aurors and so the cloak they were guarding was merely a replica."

Draco stared and then turned away from the Headmaster, his fingers tapping out their pattern double-time. "Merde," he muttered. He turned back around. "The Dark Lord could attack at any time."

"He could."

"If he sent a Death Eater in with the cloak, he could set up a Floo connection to let the other Death Eaters in."

"I thought that would be his approach as well. We cannot ward the Floo in any way but we have set up a system of alarms to tell us what fireplaces are in use."

"Have you considered putting up barrier wards?"

"We have, and we have set some up, but it would merely stall the Death Eaters for a short amount of time. It isn't possible to put up any stronger barriers because of the wards already around the castle."

Draco nodded. "And you have briefed the teachers on the evacuation plan?"

"And I'll be informing a few Prefects as well after dinner."

"Will you be using the boats?"

"They will be in use, but when the attack comes, I want you to concentrate on getting yourself out, understood?"

"I will be getting Laney out," said Draco.

"I have instructed Minerva and the Gryffindor Prefects on the importance of getting Laney away from the Death Eaters, as she would be a target. She will get out."

"Excuse me if I'm not convinced," said Draco coolly.

"Did Bill talk to you?"

"Did he talk to you?"

"Not after the two of you conversed. I do hope that he conveyed to you your value to the Order, but also to the Death Eaters."

"He said something along those lines," said Draco.

"Just remember them, and also remember that we aren't just looking after you because of your incredibly sharp mind. We like Harry for more than his scar as well." The Headmaster's blue eyes twinkled at him.

"Of course," said Draco, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Is that all?" He really needed to get back to translating his runes.

"It is."

"Good evening then."

"And to you."

Draco nodded and then went straight up to the Common Room. He pulled out his runes and sat in his armchair. He needed this done now.

He had been working an hour when the door opened, admitting Hermione, Harry, and Blaise. Draco raised his eyebrow at the intrusion.

"Dumbledore told us about the cloak," said Hermione.

"And?" Draco asked.

Hermione shrugged. "We're going to go over the evacuation plans again. Dumbledore just told us. I understand that you won't be joining us in leading the evacuation."

"He thinks it's best if I concentrate on getting out as opposed to helping others," said Draco.

"Sounds like a good idea," said Hermione.

Draco made a noncommittal noise and then returned to his runes. The trio sat on the couch, conversing quietly. Draco followed as he translated.

"The boats are a good idea. I'm only worried about the open area leading to the dock area," said Harry. "It would be easy just to pick the students off from the castle windows."

"We'll just have to be fast," said Hermione. "Make sure there's no one there to get hit by the Death Eaters."

"There will be stragglers, though," said Harry. "We should post a guard on the halls that overlook the landing platform so that the Death Eaters won't have access to the windows."

"And how would we get that person out of the castle?"

"I could do it," said Blaise. "I could jump out of the window."

"It's three stories up."

"I have limited flight capabilities," said Blaise.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"Haven't you been paying attention to the gossip?" asked Blaise. "My grandmother was part fey."

"Part what?" asked Harry.

"Fey," said Draco, looking up from his papers. "A magical creature that lives deep within magical forests. They look somewhat like humans, but have sharp teeth, claws, and can glide on the wind. They're the only natural enemy to vampires and are thought to be some sort of evolved strain of vampire, one that didn't survive on blood. The Muggles got the rumors of vampires turning into bats because of the fey's ability to glide."

"Thank you, Mr. Textbook. Could you make it sound any duller?" asked Blaise. "My great-grandmother was fey. On rare occasions the genes are passed on, though they won't become apparent for a few generations. See?"

He opened his mouth and his teeth shifted, growing longer and pointed.

"Wicked," said Harry.

"It also means he isn't as susceptible to dark curses," said Draco. "He'd make a good guard."

"Would the fey genes really affect you so much, even though you're so far removed from your great-grandmother?" asked Hermione.

"Well, that's the cool thing about being fey," said Blaise. "The genes will always remain just as strong, which means that if I ever have kids, and if they have the right genes, they'll have all the abilities I do, and I have all the abilities my great-grandmother has. The only thing that is different between a full-blooded fey and a descendant of a fey is that I can choose when to use certain features of the fey, such as I can choose when to grow fangs and such."

"Sounds convenient," said Hermione.

"It is. It keeps the other Slytherins off of me, especially as their curses don't do much to me and I can just grow fangs and they go all pale." Blaise grinned; he obviously enjoyed tormenting the boys in his dorm.

Draco smirked at the image of Blaise snarling at Theodore Nott and the burly Slytherin scrambling backwards to get out of the fey's way. He would like to see that.

By Saturday morning, Draco was well on his way to having the Persian Runes translated, but still, the idea that a Death Eater could simply appear in Hogwarts was a worrisome thought, and so, although he did take a quick nap – because he found himself making stupid mistakes – and although he did take a break to eat, he was secluded in the Common Room for most of the day.

The entire mood of the castle was tensed as well. The teachers had been informed about the threat, as well as the Prefects, though, not the Slytherin ones. Blaise and Snape would be leading that group to safety as the older Slytherin students would only be helping the Death Eaters had they been given information of the escape plans.

The older students seemed to pick up on the unspoken tension. They were quieter, and studied in the dorm rooms, looking at the grim faces of the professors and student leaders with confusion and worry. The younger students seemed to notice it as well, but they were less affected, especially as the older students were always worried about school work and grades anyway.

Draco had taken to posting the pages on the walls of the Common Room, a technique that helped him study a broader range of runes at one time. By lunch time he had found the variations of all the nouns and adjectives. By the afternoon, he had finished the second Persian Dialect, almost by accident. He had been taking a quick step back from the verbs, trying to figure out how they all fit together, when he had thought it looked surprisingly like the fifth dialect, and that was when he realized that's all it was. The verbs had translated back to the first dialect.

He nearly laughed at the simplicity, allowing a grin to slide onto his face.

"What's the good news?" asked Hermione from the couch where she was writing a Charms essay.

"I did it," said Draco, still not quite believing it himself.

"Wait, you translated the code about the Veil?" asked Hermione.

"Not yet. I still have to work the code, but I translated the language the chapter uses." He immediately ran to his bookshelf and pulled down the chapters of _The Averne_. "Now all I have to do is decipher the rest of the code."

He flipped through the chapters, memorizing the titles and immediately picking out how each chapter contributed to the code. He read the last chapter, mulling over the words in his brain.

It was then that the alarm sounded, the same alarm that had signaled the breaking of the warded doors in the dungeons the last year. Draco felt his blood run cold; it was too soon.

"That's the Death Eaters," said Hermione, her face going pale.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and took in a shaky breath, steeling herself. When she opened her eyes, she appeared calm, although there was a fierce determination behind the brown orbs.

"Dumbledore wants you to get out," she told him, and then she was out the door.

Draco ran up to his room, knowing that the alarm had rung because Death Eaters were using the Floo. He also knew that there were barriers that would hold the Death Eaters up for a few moments and so he could take the time to grab his unregistered wand. It was always a good idea to have a back up.

His extra wand was in his wardrobe, and he also grabbed his worn, green Muggle jacket and a black-knit cap. He didn't want to be recognizable, not when he was going to be getting Laney the hell out of the castle.

He was out of the Head Room not thirty seconds after Hermione, jacket and cap on, running as fast as he could to the Gryffindor Tower. There was a slight hold up on the stairs leading to the Gryffindor rooms; a dark ghoul was whizzing about the stairs, snarling and lunging at the Prefects who were trying to get up to help the students down.

"Bloody hell!" Draco swore, shoving his way up through the crowd. The Death Eaters had gone for the internal wards again in order to wreck havoc on any evacuation plan Dumbledore had instated.

Up above on the landing he could see Harry standing protectively in front of the students, wand drawn out, trying to decide if it was safer to blast the creature or merely make a run for it

Draco started up the stairs, drawing the ghoul's attention. The ghoul whizzed down and Draco sent off a spell, realized it would miss a split second later, and flicked his wand a second time. The second curse hit; the ghoul shrieked and flamed up.

Draco ran up the last few stairs and grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him to the side of the stairs while the students rushed passed them. "Where's Laney?" he demanded.

Harry shook his head. "She went to the library a little while ago and she hasn't come back yet."

"Shit," Draco swore, and then he turned, intent on running to the library, but Harry grabbed his arm.

"McGonagall's in charge of getting the kids out of the library. Laney will be fine."

"And what if she wasn't in the library?" he demanded. "What if she was in the hall on her way back here?"

"You can't just run around the school! Not when the Death Eaters are looking specifically for you."

"I'd like to see you stop me," said Draco, jerking away from Harry and then shoving his way through the stairs jammed full of students. He made it to the empty hall way, but footsteps pounding after him made him turned around.

"I'm coming with you," said Harry.

"Hero complex much?"

"Right back at you."

They were halfway to the library, checking the rooms on the way and yelling out 'Laney!' as loudly as they dared, when they met with the first Death Eater, both parties rounding the corner at the same time. Harry pulled up short, the Death Eater froze, and Draco blasted him backwards with a curse. The Death Eater crumpled.

"Nice," said Harry.

"Thanks."

"Uncle Draco!"

They both whipped around to see Laney running out from a classroom. She ran straight to Draco, half-sobbing at the fright and Draco was grabbing her tight, taking half a second to reassure himself that she was alright.

"I was in the library," said Laney, "but then the men in the masks came and they started taking people. Ron and McGonagall attacked the Death Eaters so that we could fly out the window, but I was closer to the door and so I ran away when they weren't looking."

"Taking people?" asked Draco. "Actually taking them somewhere?"

"After they stunned them," said Laney.

Draco looked up to see Harry glancing towards the library, his green eyes worried, and then Harry's eyes locked on his.

"Go," said Draco. "I can get Laney out, you see about McGonagall and Weasley."

"Be careful," said Harry.

"Back at you," said Draco.

And then Harry took off down the hall.

"Come on," said Draco, taking Laney's hand. "Let's get out of here, yeah?"

Laney nodded, and the two started back towards the boat entrance at a run. They never made it.

The Death Eaters had discovered the evacuation, and a contingent of eight had been deployed to stop the escape. Four were attacking the landing from the windows that over looked the lake from the upper floors, two were out on the landing dock attacking the remaining students directly, and two more were guarding the exit, making sure that no more children left the school.

Draco turned to Laney, both of them hidden behind the corner.

"Stay here, alright?" he asked.

"Where are you going?" The question was just on the edge of panic.

"I'm just going around the corner to get rid of the bad men. Remember Diagon Alley? I'm just going to stop the bad men, and then we can get out of here, alright? When I call your name, I want you to follow me outside, okay?"

Laney nodded, but her eyes were wide and mouth pressed together, trying not to cry. Draco gave her a reassuring smile and then he stepped out into the hall.

The Death Eaters were startled, but they were good, immediately sending hexes his way. Draco's stride didn't even pause as he blocked the two curses, sending out two more. One hit the Death Eater on the left, but the one on the right blocked it. He was down half a second later, not even noticing the second curse Draco had sent.

"Laney!" He half turned to see his niece running out. "Just stay right beside me."

And then they were out on the edge of the long marble patio that made up the landing dock. The far side jutted out, shallow marble steps leading down to where the dark water lapped up against the stone. There was a line of boats faithfully gliding across the water to skim by the steps so the students could get in, and then the boat would turn and float away while the next craft pulled up. At least, that's what was supposed to be happening, but the boats were being capsized and crushed by curses from the Death Eaters once the small ships were in range.

The boats were warded against dark curses and also warded to keep the students from falling out, but the Death Eaters were using water curses, causing the lake to rise up and over turn the boats, and so the few students that remained could not get off the dock. The two Death Eaters that were attacking the students were stunning the younger children and then levitating their bodies away from the edge. They were then dropping a Portkey coin on the unconscious students and the children would disappear.

Blaise Zabini and Ginny Weasley were doing their best to protect the remaining students huddled at the bottom of the steps, but Draco could see that Blaise was injured, a stream of blood running down the side of his face and he had his hands full trying to keep the unconscious form of Hermione Granger from being called over to the Death Eaters. Ginny was trying to keep him conscious enough to save Hermione while standing in front of six students and blocking stunning hexes.

Draco spotted the two attacking Death Eaters, hiding behind the pillars that held up the slight over hang before they spotted him. He cut them both down, yelling out 'Decido!' The yell was partly because he wanted it powerful enough to take both of them out with one curse and partly so that Ginny and Blaise would see him.

They did.

"Draco!" Blaise yelled, suddenly looking more alert at the sight of his friend that was supposed to have left at the beginning of the attack.

"Run over on my mark!" Ginny shouted over to him. "We'll cover you!"

Draco was hoping they would be able to provide them cover; he didn't think he could get Laney across ten meters of open marble while there were Death Eaters attacking from above. He grabbed Laney's hand, prepared to run.

Ginny and Blaise sent out a flurry of hexes at the windows of the castle.

"Now!" Ginny yelled.

Draco took off, pulling Laney along with him, perhaps going a little fast for the girl, but his firm grip propelled her along as well.

The curses Blaise and Ginny were yelling were primarily the 'protego' shield charm, but because the Death Eaters were using dark magic, the shields only held for a few seconds at most. Still, Draco and Laney made it to the edge of the steps without harm, and once they were there, Draco whirled around, yelling 'Contego!'

A blue shimmering light burst out of his wand and then spread out in a thin wall of the iridescent light. This time, when the dark curses were called out, they were merely absorbed by the shield. Draco turned to Blaise and Ginny.

"I can't hold that for long."

"I should say not," said Blaise. "That's a dark curse for a reason."

Draco knew that, and he knew that holding a dark shield only drained the caster. Wizards had died from holding the shield for too long, and that was why it was a dark curse. Draco didn't see why. During the war, often times a general or a commander would cast and hold the shield during a retreat so his men could get to safety. Such people were considered heroes, sacrificing their life for others and it was only after the wars that the curse was put under the category of dark.

The shield also made it hard for the Death Eaters to hit the arriving boats, and Ginny packed three of the students in the first boat that came by.

Draco knelt by Hermione and checked her pulse. The Head Girl was merely unconscious due to a rather powerful variation of the stunning spell and so he woke her up with an 'ennervate', that wouldn't completely pulling her back into reality, but should at least make her able to respond to her surroundings.

Hermione groaned and her eyes fluttered open.

"Granger, you awake?" Draco asked.

"Sort of," Hermione managed, rubbing a hand at her eyes.

"We're going to get you out of here. The boats, remember?" asked Draco.

"Yeah."

Draco looked up to see the last of the students sent off, and another empty boat coming forward.

"Laney," he said, "you're going to go with Hermione, alright?"

He would have liked to send Laney with Ginny, because the Gryffindor girl looked the most alert, but he knew that head injuries such as Blaise's could be serious and Ginny would have to keep the Slytherin awake.

"I want to go with you though," said Laney.

"I know, but I need you to look after Hermione. Can you do that for me?"

Laney glanced at the Head Girl who was staring up at the sky and nodded.

"Good girl," said Draco. The empty boat came closer and Draco pulled Hermione up and helped her down the steps. Ginny was holding onto Laney's hand, and once Hermione had managed to get in the boat, Ginny helped Laney in as well.

Laney waved good-bye and Draco returned the gesture. A few dark curses hit the shield and Draco pulled off his cap and dropped it on the ground, rubbing at the back of his head and trying to push back the pain the curses caused. He turned to Ginny.

"How do you feel about using dark magic?" he asked.

"Sometimes it's a necessary evil," the girl responded. "Why?"

"I can't hold the shield for much longer and then the Death Eaters are going to start attacking again with their wind and water curses to try to capsize the boats. The counter is 'consido', and it's just a simple wave of the wand. I want you to make sure that Laney gets to Hogsmeade without drowning."

"I think you should just take the next boat," said Ginny. "You're supposed to get out of here."

"But when I leave the shield does to. I can hold it for a bit longer and it's best if you just leave now."

"You're not going to try and do anything stupid, are you? You wouldn't decide to get captured by Tom just for some crazy plan, would you?"

"The thought crossed my mind," said Draco, "but things didn't exactly work out. I'm taking a boat out of here." He couldn't pull off his plan because he still didn't know the artifacts needed for the ritual, which meant he could alert the Aurors. He didn't particularly relish the idea of being a prisoner of the Dark Lord without a back up plan.

"I'm holding you to that," said Ginny. Draco smirked, remember Bill saying the exact same thing.

The next boat drew closer and Draco crossed over to Blaise who was leaning against the low railing of the steps.

"How's your head?" he asked. Normally he would heal the wound, but with the shield cast, he didn't have the energy spare.

"I'm good," said Blaise, but his eyes weren't exactly focused.

"What happened?"

"I was taking out some Death Eaters on the third floor, but then one took me out."

"The news about a fey traveled rather fast," said Ginny. "So a whole bunch of Death Eaters were sent up. We managed to get over half the students out on the boats because Blaise was guarding the windows, but then he got thrown out of one."

"I thought feys could fly," said Draco.

"Yeah, I just forgot until the last minute. It's one of the abilities I don't get to practice a whole lot."

"We'll have to work on that then," said Draco.

The empty boat pulled up and Draco helped Blaise down the steps and into the small crafts. He was going to offer a hand to Ginny as well, but the girl made boarding a boat in motion look surprisingly easy without any assistance at all.

"Remember," said Draco, "the spell is-,"

"Consido," said Ginny. "With a regular wave of the wand. I'm a fast learner." She frowned. "That sounded completely cliché."

Draco smirked and watched the boat pull away, the next empty boat floating forwards. He had just thought that they had managed to pull this thing off rather well when Ginny screamed.

"Draco!"

He jerked his eyes up to see her pointing behind him, trying to warn him. There was no time to whip around and her terrified gaze locked onto his, and then there was an explosion of pain in the back of his head as several dark curses were hurled against his shield at the exact same moment.

He could hear the shield fizzle out behind him even as the force of the curses on his shield shoved him forward, right into the cold, black waters. It actually turned out to be a good thing because the freezing water shocked his system back into awareness.

He forced back the urge to suck in a breath at the cold and waited for what felt like half an eternity before he swam to the surface, coming out into the open air with no warning. He was calling out curses the instant his eyes locked onto the Death Eaters standing on the steps, looking for his body.

He managed to topple the closest Death Eaters and then he pulled himself up onto the steps, taking down two more Death Eaters, but more were coming, pouring out of the school. Draco looked back only to see the empty boat coming for him to be flipped over by a water curse before it was broken into bits. He wouldn't be getting out this way.

He charged up the stairs, not wanting the Death Eaters to have the high ground. If he was going to be taken by the Dark Lord, he was going to do everything in his power to take out as many Death Eaters as he could right now. It made the chances for escape marginally better.

Had he been working on full capacity, he would have held out longer, but he was drained from the shield spell and he was beginning to shiver from the frigid water. He blocked as many spells as he could, and sent out twice as much, taking four down and injuring two more before a curse caught him on his side and he went sprawling, toppling back down the stairs, hitting his temple painfully on the marble before he came to a rest two steps from the water.

Draco could see the boat holding Ginny and Blaise gradually grow smaller even as the two were calling out his name, trying to get to him, but the wards that prevent the students from falling out of the boat also prevented them from throwing themselves into the water as well.

He forced himself to his feet, his wand still clenched in his hand. Warm liquid trickled down his forehead and he knew without reaching up that it was blood.

"Reicio antepalini."

The first line of Death Eaters were thrown back, but he didn't even notice the responding curse, not until it hit his chest, a stunner. Darkness rose up, claiming him just like the black waters that once again received his form. This time, though, he hardly felt the cold as he slipped under.

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Ron had been put in charge of guarding the students at the library should there be a Death Eater attack. Yeah, as if it were even possible.

You would think that Dumbledore would realize that there was only one entrance to the library and that perhaps he should just close down the library until after the attack so that students weren't trapped. Better yet, how about Dumbledore just closed classes as well as the library. Ron liked that idea, but Dumbledore didn't seem to be impressed by his reasoning.

Still, Ron did the best he could; he wasn't a junior chess champion for nothing. He had brought in the brooms that the school kept in the Quidditch shack and hidden them behind the bookshelves by the windows. McGonagall disapproved of the idea of brooms in the library, but she couldn't say anything because if Death Eaters did happen by the library, it was either fly or jump.

He had also discovered that the wards on the bookshelves in the restricted section did more than scream when a student took a book, but they also deflected spells. Ron didn't know how well the wards would hold up to dark curses, but it was better than nothing.

It was because of this that when the alarm went off, Ron, who had been camping out at the library, was able to get five students out on brooms before the Death Eaters stormed in, which they did almost immediately.

Ron gathered the rest of the students behind the restricted shelves and then had them run to the brooms and out the window one at a time while he and McGonagall provided as much cover as they could against nine Death Eaters. Some made it; some didn't. Those who didn't were stunned by the Death Eaters who then called the bodies over, only to Portkey them who knows where.

It was during the attack that he noticed Laney Chalmers-Malfoy hiding under a desk. He hadn't even seen the small girl come in, but he knew that if they got the chance, the Death Eaters would love to get their hands on the illegitimate grand-daughter of Lucius Malfoy. Ron liked the kid, even though he hated her uncle with a passion, but still, he knew that no one could choose the family they were born into. Just look at his family after all. They received the scorn of most Purebloods and a few times they had even been shunned by Half-bloods and Muggle-borns who seemed to think that all Purebloods were prejudice and that the Weasley family just hid it well, or helped the others out of pity.

Ron wanted to get the girl out, and she needed a distraction and so Ron turned to the four students behind the shelf with him.

"I'm going out, and when I do, run for the window, alright?"

And then Ron had charged out behind the shelf, running directly at the masked followers of Voldemort with a battle roar, flinging curses as fast as he could think of them and pushing them away from the door. He hoped Laney would realize that was a cue to run, and he could see the girl slip out the door. Good.

He was hit by a stunner and was out in an instant.

He woke to a hand shaking him gently and he pried open his eyes to stare at the concerned face of Professor McGonagall. His eyes slid to the right where he could see a wall made up of steel bars. That couldn't be good.

He sat up, taking in the large prison they were held in. It was made up of three walls of bars, the fourth being the stone walls that made up the larger room the cell was held in. To the left was a stone staircase leading up to a door and the rest of the room was empty, save a table and chairs. Two Death Eaters sat there playing a game of cards, their faces uncovered, but Ron didn't recognize any of them.

Besides himself and McGonagall, there were nine other people in the cell, all of them students from Hogwarts and all of them fourth year or younger. Three were Gryffindor, four Hufflepuff and two Ravenclaws. No Slytherins, but that wasn't a surprise to Ron. The students were huddling together, some sniffing quietly, the older ones trying to comfort the younger.

"What do you suppose they want?" he asked McGonagall softly.

The Professor shook her head. "I don't know."

The door at the top of the stairs banged open and three more Death Eaters appeared, one levitating a body between them. Another one captured.

Ron reached for his wand, already knowing it wasn't there, but he stood when the Death Eaters drew closer, standing in front of the other students. McGonagall stood as well.

The door of the prison was opened with a spell and then the body was dumped inside, the figure rolling a few times before coming to rest on his back, his face turned towards the occupants of the cell.

"The hell?" Ron managed, stepping back from the unconscious form of Draco Malfoy who was dressed in the school trousers and button-up shirt but also the most Muggle-looking, most ugly green jacket Ron had ever seen. He also had blood smearing the side of his head. Was this some sort of trick in hopes to get him or McGonagall to trust the Slytherin who would then tell their secrets to the Dark Lord?

Ron was not going to fall for it.

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My longest chapter in this story yet! Are you wondering how Draco's going to pull this off? If so, leave a review. If not...umm, well, I don't know. I suppose you wouldn't have to then.


	18. The Dissenter's Mark

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would abandon my college classes and play in the warm weather and sunshine!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: One of my amazing reviewers, Maya Snape, has made a cover pic for The Code, and you can see it at  
http ://i9.photobucket. com/albums/a87/terraesan/ Harry20Potter/thecode. jpg  
Just copy the address over and remove the spaces that I had to include because ff doesn't like hyperlinks and what not. Anyway, it is an awesome picture, and I love it, and whenever I get writers block I go look at it to be inspired. So check it out!

**Kiki**: Well, if you haven't gone crazy with anticipation yet, here's the next chapter…  
**Anna**: I love strawberry jam, but you're right, Draco is in a lot more trouble than that. Thanks for the review!  
**Sabireru**: You're right, Draco could use his animagi form, especially seeing as I finally found one for him, but that's in the next chapter…  
**Drewberry**: I'm afraid that the next couple of chapters may all be slightly cliff-hangerish, just because, well, Draco is captured by Death Eaters and all.  
**Freyalyn**: Yeah, was a pretty bad cliff-hanger, but see, it wasn't really intentional, it just sorta ended that way. And yes, it probably does need a 'd'. I do try to catch all my typos, but there are just so many (sigh).  
**Sanjs**: two hundred bucks on poker? Nice. Was it Texas hold 'em, that's my fav, but I suck. Anyway, I'm glad I could contribute to your awesome day. Thanks for the review!  
**Faith****Maguire**: Glad you could stay conscious long enough to read my chapter, and hope you're a little more alert today. Thanks for reviewing.  
**Conngirl89**: Yes, Draco has changed, but he still has some Ice Prince left in him, which I think I will annunciate in the third story……getting ahead of myself, lol. As for Harry, he's okay. I'll touch on that next chapter I think. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Gremlin**: lol, I'm glad I bring joy to Tuesdays. And I love happy dances!

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In the first instant that Draco awoke, he knew exactly what happened and what must have happened. It was something he had always been able to do.

Because he knew that he had been stunned by Death Eaters, and because he knew he must have been taken to the Death Eater stronghold, he repressed the urge to stir and open his eyes, and forced his breathing to remain calm and steady as he took stock of his condition.

He was dry, and he distinctly remembered taking a plunge or two into the lake, so one of the Death Eaters must have cast a drying charm on him, no doubt because the Dark Lord couldn't afford his translator to catch a cold. The area above his right temple was throbbing where he had hit it on the steps, and because it was just beginning to itch, it must have started to scab over. He couldn't feel his other wand in his pocket, which meant that they had searched him and found it. He hoped they wouldn't snap either of them.

He could hear voices around him, and identified them as Professor McGonagall, Ron Weasley, and a few other whispers, which meant that other students had been taken as well. He couldn't quite identify those voices, which meant they were younger students, no older than fourth year, and from the voices he figured there were around six of them.

Someone knocked against something and there was the clear ring of steel, which meant that they were in a cell of some sort and the smell of the air was scarily familiar, but to know for sure, he would have to open his eyes.

He stirred, and immediately the voices fell silent. He moaned, made a show of his eyelids fluttering, as if he was trying to force himself into consciousness and then finally succeeding, and stared up at the ceiling before pushing himself into a sitting position.

His hand rose to his head and he winced, and that wasn't an act. His head was aching and his vision somewhat blurred, but he blinked it away. Perhaps a slight concussion, nothing more.

There were seven other kids as well as the Professor and Ronald Weasley and the jail cell they were all currently locked in was nothing other that the Malfoy Estate's dungeons kept below the wine cellar. The irony was not lost on Draco.

He turned his head to see two Death Eaters at the table outside the cell and identified them as Broxton and Callahan. He then pushed himself to his feet and stretched, making sure he wasn't injured anywhere else, before surveying the other prisoners.

Ron appeared to be unharmed as well as McGonagall. That was good. The other students looked too young to be of any real use, although there was a fourth year, a Ravenclaw, and he looked as if he might be able to at least keep on eye on the students.

Still, the presence of the others created an opportunity. Perhaps he would still be able to warn the Aurors. He walked over to a wall of bars and sat down. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He needed to think.

He called up the pages of _The_ _Averne_ in his mind, or more specifically, the pages that held the chapter titles. The titles held the code that referenced the veil, and he could still figure out the rest of the code, if he had enough time of course.

It was hard to concentrate, knowing that a cell full of eyes were watching him, wondering if he had anything to do with the attack, wondering if he was going to do anything that would make it worse for them.

He pulled up his mental shields, just because it always helped him pull away from his environment and focus. It wasn't exactly easy trying to translate a code in his head, but still, it was only a few words. He should be able to manage.

It took him roughly half an hour to find the next words: Payment of the Crossing.

Draco puzzled over that in his mind. The code now read: The Descent/ Submersion an easy path. No doors bar the road, but Descend/Submerge only for Death. Life is not easily returned/retraced. The Road not by water, so diverged by men. A Mantle/Veil of water woven to mark the way. Descend/Submerge only for Death. Life may be saved, but only with a prayer, an offering, and the Payment of the Crossing.

He immediately knew what it must be. The offering was simply a letting of blood, not a lot, just enough to fill a goblet. The payment would be a coin. The whole Veil was based on the mythology of the Underworld, and according to the stories, a coin was needed to pay Charon to ferry the soul across the River Acheron. In this case, though, the soul would be taken the other way.

He suddenly opened his eyes, sitting up straight as a thought hit him. He had always thought that if the Dark Lord called out his Horcrux, than he would have to call out Sirius Black because Black had been holding his Horcrux when he fell through, but that wouldn't be the case. The Horcrux was part of a soul after all; it would have to be called out separately.

He resisted the urge to smirk in triumph, after all, he was still a prisoner of the Dark Lord, although, if everything went right, he could remedy that as well.

He leaned his head back against the bars again, but didn't close his eyes. All the time he had been thinking he could feel the other students' eyes on him and the feeling was disconcerting. With his eyes open, they didn't dare look at him.

That, however, didn't stop McGonagall or Weasley from glancing suspiciously in his direction, so he merely glared at them and then pulled his knees up to his chest and settled back.

Silence.

Weasley took a seat as well, cross-legged and across the cell from Draco.

Silence.

One of the younger students lay against another.

Silence.

Draco felt boredom slipping in. He knew it was an odd feeling to have, especially in light of his current position, but he couldn't help it. He wanted something to happen so he could work through the events to turn the circumstances in his favor. Sitting here, in a cell full of young students and the Gryffindor Head of House, was incredibly monotonous. He let his fingers tap out his pattern for the lack of anything better to do.

Silence.

"I'm scared."

That was the young girl leaning against the fourth year.

Silence.

"Me too." That was a young boy.

"I want to go home."

"I want my mum."

"I'm starving."

"I'm scared."

"I'm bored," said Draco, finally giving into temptation and slouching against the bars.

"You're what?" asked Weasley, incredulous.

"Bored. Uninterested. Restless. Irked. Tiring of sitting here. Weary of listening to little kids whine. Done with being stuck here with nothing to do."

"Of course you're bored," said Ron. "You just have to sit here and listen to our conversations, right? And then afterwards, Daddy's going to come down and get you out of here once you're done spying on us."

Frightened eyes turned to Draco, who rolled his.

"Yes, because the knowledge that a bunch of little kids want their mothers is something the Dark Lord will want to know," he said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

"Piss off, Malfoy," said Ron.

Draco rolled his eyes again and the room lapsed into silence once more.

The door at the top of the stairs opened and three Death Eaters came through, walking down the stairs, their boots echoing chillingly through the room. The younger students huddled further back; McGonagall and Ron stood in front of them.

Draco didn't bother getting up; he knew what the Death Eaters were there for. They were there for him.

The Death Eaters stopped in front of the cell and unlocked the door. It swung open and one stepped through.

"You," he said, pointing at Draco. "Come."

Draco got to his feet, making sure that his mask of indifference was on his face.

"And you," said the Death Eater, pointing at Ron Weasley.

Whatever this was, it couldn't be good.

Draco walked out of the cell on his own power, not wanting to waste his energy on resisting, besides, resistance only led to punishment, and punishment meant injury. Draco couldn't afford that right now.

Ron did not have Draco's insight, and he was a Gryffindor, which meant that he was dragged out of the cell, yelling and fighting the entire way until a particularly nasty backhand stunned him so that the Death Eaters could get him up the stairs. Draco was merely prodded forward by wand tip, to which he glared, and then followed the rest out of the dungeons.

It was his house and so when they took a right once they reached the ground floor, he knew that they were going to the large study that Lucius often held business meetings in.

Sure enough, they walked down the ornately decorated hall and then entered through the two heavy, polished mahogany doors. The study held a fireplace on one side with two large armchairs, and large bookshelves. The other side held a large table with comfortable chairs set around it.

There were windows in the study, but the drapes were drawn, meaning it was night, and the room was lit with torches that lined the walls. There was a figure sitting in one of the chairs by the fire, and Draco knew, even before the figure stood, that it was the Dark Lord.

The Death Eaters stepped back respectfully, Ron being released with a shove. The red-head looked nervous, swallowing loudly but facing the chair defiantly. Draco merely stood there, waiting for the Dark Lord to make the first move.

Voldemort turned to face them, his eyes glinting red as he surveyed the two. His gaze finally rested on Draco. Draco refused to let his expression change and although he met the Dark Lord's gaze, his eyes were merely guarded, not openly defiant or repulsed. He knew the unresponsiveness would anger Voldemort more than rebellion.

"Other men in your position have wept," said Voldemort, his voice one of equal indifference as Draco's expression. "Others have begged and a few have soiled themselves. It would be a disappointment if you did such things. Do you know why it would be a disappointment?"

He stepped closer, but Draco didn't answer.

"It would be a disappointment because then it would mean that not only had I chosen a traitor to be my heir, but also a coward. So yes, it is a great relief that you do not cry and you do not plead."

Voldemort reached out with his pale hand and his fingers brushed Draco's cheek. Draco flinched; he couldn't help it. The Dark Lord smiled triumphantly at him, tracing his sharp nails lightly over Draco's face like the caress of a knife.

"Such defiance," said Voldemort, almost fondly. "So proud, so…afraid. Yes, you are afraid. Only a fool would not be, and you are no fool, are you?"

Draco remained silent and Voldemort backhanded him sharply, throwing his head to the side.

"You will answer your lord! Are you a fool, or are you not?"

"I am not," said Draco.

"But you are," said Voldemort. "I offered you my kingdom, my reign, my blessing. Would a fool refuse me?"

"A fool would accept you, a wise man as well. Only the very wise would refuse."

"Only the very wise," laughed the Dark Lord. His expression grew serious and he grabbed a fistful of Draco's hair, forcing him to his knees and then twisting his fingers in the strands, making sure Draco couldn't pull away. "Does a wise man count his life forfeit?" He yanked backwards, tilting Draco's face up to his. "Is death a wise choice? Is a life of pain and torment the life a shrewd man would choose?"

"The fool will never understand the choice of a wise man."

The Dark Lord forced Draco's head back even further, his muscles straining under such a position and the grip on his hair painful.

"I will tell you this," hiss Voldemort, his breath hot and putrid against Draco's face. "It is not wise to incite my wrath."

The Dark Lord looked up at his followers. "Tie the boy to the chair and gag him."

Draco could see, out of the corner of his eye, the Death Eaters grabbing Ron Weasley and forcing him over to a chair at the table, and then a Death Eater was blocking his view, but the yells and curses were muffled and then fell silent.

The Dark Lord released Draco with a shove and Draco fell to the floor, but pushed himself back up again. Voldemort paced over to the fire, staring into the flames.

"You are not wise," said Voldemort. "A wise man has lived long years, something that you will never experience, not unless you make a wise decision right now." He turned to Draco once more. "I do not extend welcome into my service twice, but should you consent to assisting me willingly, if you swear to serve me for the rest of your days and never stray from my side, I will be lenient. You will have the opportunity to be one of my followers again and through time, and through your deeds, you can reclaim the place of my most favored. What say you, Dragon?"

Draco was a genius, and he knew that antagonizing the Dark Lord was not a smart thing to do, but he was, above all, a teenaged boy, and so he smirked.

"I'd say you were pretty desperate for help if you're extending another invite. What's the matter? Is recruiting not what it used to be?"

The glare sent his way was deadly and then Draco was grabbed from behind and forced forward. He was dragged over and slammed into the chair at the foot of the table. Ron was to his right and looking completely confused.

"This is your last chance," said Voldemort, coming up behind him. "You will serve me, whether it be willingly or not. So what is your choice?"

"I'm not going to help you shed the blood of innocents, or try to purify the wizarding race. If I was for blood purity, I'd get rid of the Half-bloods first. You'd be among the first to go."

There was no retaliation, even though Draco braced himself for a 'crucio'. Instead, the Dark Lord laughed, walking around until he could see Draco.

"You don't wish to shed the blood of innocents? We will see how truly you believe that. Draco, how smart are you?"

Draco froze, knowing what Voldemort wanted him to do. He wanted Draco to reveal his secrets in front of Ron Weasley, a boy that he did not get along with. The Dark Lord knew that Draco didn't want to join the Order, and that he didn't trust most of them, and now he would be laying his secrets open before them.

"Crucio!" roared Voldemort.

Ron jerked, a muffled scream coming out of the gag, and then he was biting down, trying not to yell at the pain even as his body jerked and writhed, straining against the bonds.

Voldemort cut the curse off and Ron was left lying limp against the ropes, sweat dripping down his face even though he was shivering. He turned tortured blue eyes in Draco's direction.

Draco swallowed. "I'm smart," he said.

"Not good enough," said Voldemort. "Crucio!"

Again, the muffled cry and the grunts, gasping breaths through the nose as Ron tried to bite back the screams.

"Enough!" said Draco. "I'm a genius."

He couldn't take the sight of the red-head being tortured in front of him, not when the red-head was a brother to Bill. The curse ended and Ron stared at Draco in incomprehension. Draco looked away.

"A genius?" asked the Dark Lord. "Is it true that you translated the Persian Runes?"

Shit. Draco had been hoping he would be able to play the 'this is really hard even for a genius' card when he was translating to buy himself some time. It appeared Voldemort thought the same way.

"I translated them," he admitted.

"And you can translate the last of _The Averne_, and the code in it?"

"I can."

"And it will take you, how long?"

Draco shrugged. "A week, tops."

"Crucio!"

Ron jerked again.

"Five days!"

"Don't lie to me! I know you must have already started the translations."

"I'm not lying; I swear I'm not lying. I still have to translate from the third dialect, I only got that far. Maybe four days, but that's hoping that the grammatical structure of the third and second aren't changed from the fourth. If they are it will be five days and there is nothing I can do to make it go faster."

He stared at the Dark Lord, willing him to believe his lie. Next to him Ron still convulsed and screamed through the gag and Draco felt afraid. If the Dark Lord found out he was lying, he wouldn't hesitate to kill Ron, and Draco was not going to be the cause of the death of Bill's brother.

The curse ended and Draco could hear Ron gulping in air and he resisted the urge to do the same.

"You will have four days," said the Dark Lord.

Draco nodded, wanting to do nothing more than breathe a sigh of relief, but stopping himself. He glanced Ron's way to see the boy still trembling from the curse. Voldemort stepped closer to Draco and the door in the back of the room opened. The Dark Lord looked at the visitor and then turned back to Draco with a leering smile.

"Tell me, Draco, if you are a genius, why didn't you tell your father?"

And then Lucius Malfoy was there as well, looking at Draco with a detached, distant expression, and Draco, try as he might, could not read anything in that gaze. Draco stared at his father, not knowing what to say to him, but wanting to tell him something, something to let him know that he hadn't forsaken his family, just the Dark Lord, but the words were stuck in his throat.

"Draco, need I remind you what will happen if you do not answer?" asked the Dark Lord, looking at Ron meaningfully.

"I-," Draco started, not wanting Ron to be tortured any more, but at the same time not wanting to reveal his reasons in front of the Weasley, or anyone for that matter. He didn't even know if he could articulate his reasons. "I didn't because I…I didn't want to be a pawn, or for my genius to be used for reasons not my own."

He couldn't look at his father, and instead he stared at the table, feeling the prick behind his eyes but knowing tears would never fall. He had never been more grateful for that curse than he was right now.

"And did you or did you not have the opportunity to join me last year?"

"I did."

"And what did you say? Without the vulgarity, that is."

"I told you to screw yourself."

"And what was your reasoning?"

"I don't believe in your cause, or in the way you promote, or your leadership of such a cause. It's hypocritical, and your power is nothing more than fear."

"Those are some strong reasons. Tell me, Draco, and this is your very last chance, will you ever join me?"

"No," said Draco.

The Dark Lord grinned, a smile that only bespoke of horrors to come. "I was almost hoping you would say that." The door behind Draco opened again. "McNair, Nott, Wormtail, get him on the table."

Draco jumped to his feet as soon as his shoulder was grabbed and kicked back the chair. There was no way he wanted to get on that table. The chair hit the gut of whoever it was that had tried to grab him, and then he ducked under McNair's arm, but then Nott Sr. ran full tilt at him.

Draco tried to dart left, but he didn't have a chance. Nott's beefy arm grabbed him, hurling him backwards. Draco hit the table hard on his back and the breath was knocked out of him. He reflexively gasped and in the two seconds his body panicked for air, Nott grabbed his legs, McNair grabbed his right arm and Wormtail held down his left.

Once Draco managed to breathe again, he struggled, but he had no leverage and all men were much larger and stronger than he. That didn't stop him from trying, though he did fall quiet when Voldemort stepped into his line of vision. He held in his hands a long knife, sheathed in a cover of silver and gold. Voldemort drew the knife from the sheath and the sharp blade glinted in the firelight.

"You are outside of my mercy now, Draco, although if you beg it might go easier on you."

Draco laughed in the Dark Lord's face because it was so much more effective then swearing or cursing him. The Dark Lord's expression grew twisted.

"Wormtail," he said.

Wormtail grabbed Draco's hand and jerked his arm so that it was outstretched from his body, palm-side up. Draco's jacket and shirt sleeve were roughly pushed up, baring his forearm. Draco did not like where this was headed, and he tried to pull away, but his arm was being held by Wormtail's silver hand and the strength was frightening.

Voldemort paced behind the table and Draco couldn't follow the Dark Lord with his gaze, but he did manage to lock eyes with a horrified Ron Weasley.

"Because you refuse me, there will be no leniency on you, Draco. You will be marked as a traitor for the rest of your life, and even should you desire to bear my sign, you will never have that honor. All who meet you will know that you denied the Dark Lord and you will be despised."

The knife was brought down with terrifying accuracy and there was a blinding pain in his left arm. Draco couldn't stop the scream that left his throat and his body arched, no longer held down by the Death Eaters. His knees were bent, his feet flat on the table only to skid down as he clenched his teeth shut, biting off the scream and squeezing his eyes shut.

The pain didn't die down, but he pushed himself past the fire, forcing himself to take in a ragged breath and release it without a cry. He took in another, and another. He opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling while he bit back another scream and then he slowly, very slowly, turned his head to the left.

The knife was sticking through his arm, the hilt almost touching his skin so that he was pinned to the table like a picture on a cork board. A soft whimper escaped his lips when he tried to move his fingers and found he could. The knife was turned so that the blade slid in between his two bones, and although it had sliced through muscle, he still had use of his hand. Already a puddle of blood had formed underneath his arm.

Draco could hear the laughter of the surrounding Death Eaters and then the Dark Lord stepped closer.

"Does it hurt?" he inquired. "Would it hurt if I did this?"

The Dark Lord grabbed his hand and pulled. Draco cried out at the agony, his body spasming at the torment.

"Oh, Merlin, oh ga-," he cut off because something was happening. The blade seemed to be growing warm and he turned wild grey eyes onto the knife impaling his arm.

"This is not an ordinary knife," said the Dark Lord. "This is to ensure that you will always carry this scar, just as my followers will always carry my mark."

Draco hardly heard him. The knife was starting to burn, the blade changing colors from silver steel to a glowing yellow. Instinct and reflex urged him to pull away but every time he moved his arm his skin pressed harder against the blade. His skin was beginning to blister at the heat and he could hardly hear above the roaring in his ears. He tried to concentrate on his breathing but the next wave of pain wiped out all thought from his mind.

"Merde," he gasped, not aware that he was saying anything. "Merde."

He could hear laughter around him, could feel the heat only growing. His right knee bent, his heel digging into the table only to drag back down again. He bit off a yell, only half conscious to the fact that he was shaking, his muscles strained to the point of snapping as the skin on his arm melted. He could hear his ragged breaths, harsh and raspy, and then the fire grew again, the knife a blazing orange.

This time he heard the hiss of his skin and muscle on the blade, the smell of burning flesh causing him to gag as his trembling increased. A scream rose in his throat again, but he bit down once more, only a strangled cry leaving his lips. Black spots rose up in front of his vision but he didn't pass out. Part of his mind recognized that he should have been unconscious by now, that the human brain can only handle so much before it shuts down out of self-preservation, and so something in the knife itself must be keeping him alert, but the thought was engulfed by the blazing fire encompassing his mind. He wished he would pass out because he could bite back the scream any more.

The blade turned a hell-fire red and suddenly Draco didn't have to worry about screaming because he couldn't get a breath in. His body convulsed and his eyes rolled back in their sockets. He was choking and writhing and his muscles began to seize up. Just as the lack of oxygen pushed him towards unconsciousness, the heat faded from the blade.

Draco's body reflexively breathed in like a man half-drowned and the release was a smothered moan. He was covered in sweat and the blood that had drained from the hole in his arm. His limbs were still twitching as the over-stimulated, abused nerve endings fired randomly and Draco could only try to calm his breathing.

Deep breathing, that was all he needed to stop the tremors, deep breathing and forcing his mind passed the shooting pain, onto something else. The Dark Lord walked into his line of vision

"I'm sorry," said Voldemort, bending over him. "Did that hurt?"

Draco decided that he did not like the look on Voldemort's face and his instincts held true when the Dark Lord grabbed his hand once more and pulled.

The scream tore from his lips as blinding white flames shot straight from his arm to his head and he could feel his body jerk, but then the darkness descended and Draco thankfully dove in.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, Lucius, he didn't beg," said Voldemort, standing next to the table, bending over the unconscious form of Draco Malfoy.

"He was raised a Malfoy," said the elder Malfoy composedly.

Voldemort chuckled. "And that makes all the difference, does it?"

Lucius Malfoy raised an eyebrow in an expression Ron had seen so many times on Draco. He now knew where Draco had learned it from.

"But of course," said Lucius, in the still even tones. Ron wondered if he even cared that his son had a knife sticking through his arm.

"I thought he wasn't a Malfoy anymore," said Voldemort.

Ron frowned, or rather, he would have had he not been gagged. Draco was disowned? Of course, now it all made sense. Draco with his niece, Draco with Harry and Hermione, Draco being Head Boy. Ron felt a moment of betrayal by his best friends. They hadn't told him? Then again, Malfoy probably hadn't wanted them to, but still, since when did that stop them before? He pulled himself out of his revere when Lucius answered.

"A Malfoy is always a Malfoy, in name or not. There is no mistaking us."

"Is that so," queried Voldemort.

Ron knew, from the Dark Lord's tone of voice, that he was not pleased with the self-assurance and if he had been Lucius Malfoy, he would have dropped the subject. Lucius Malfoy, however, was not him and he merely arched his eyebrow even further.

"Surely you have felt the same way with your proud heritage?"

Ron knew that could be taken two ways, especially in the dry tones as uttered by Lucius Malfoy. It could be that Malfoy was merely commenting on Voldemort's connection with Slytherin. Or it could be, what Ron suspected it was, a slight barb on Voldemort's Muggle father. He wondered if Lucius did have an inkling of concern for his son and this was retaliation for torturing the disowned heir of the Malfoy Estate.

"I do not like your tone, Lucius," Voldemort warned.

Lucius looked faintly surprised and then both his eyebrows rose in understanding.

"Ah," he said lightly. "I meant, of course, your noble association with Salazaar Slytherin. I would not seek to offend."

He _would_ not seek to offend, but that didn't mean he hadn't.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, but Lucius was already walking away, calling an excuse over his shoulder.

"I do hope you will forgive me, milord. I have letters to send to the Ministry."

And then the Malfoy patriarch was gone leaving Voldemort to seethe at the unresponsive form of the younger Malfoy. It obviously wasn't helping any because Voldemort swept out of the room.

"Wormtail, guard the boys. You lot, with me."

The room emptied of Death Eaters, leaving only Wormtail, the one who had once been Ron's rat. Once the room was emptied Wormtail shivered with glee and immediately crossed to the fire to sink into the armchair that had been Voldemort's.

Ron glanced at the Death Eater and then furiously rubbed his cheek on his shoulder, trying to dislodge the gag. It took him a few moments, but the cloth finally fell from his lips. Ron once again glanced towards the fireplace and then back towards the limp form of his school enemy.

"Malfoy!" he hissed.

No response.

"Malfoy!" he tried a little louder.

Still no response, and on closer evaluation, Malfoy looked alarmingly pale.

Ron shuffled his feet, jerking against the bindings. The chair slid forward half an inch, the sound muffled by the thick, oriental carpet it was sitting on. Ron jerked again, another half inch. It seemed to take him half of forever before he reached the table.

"Malfoy!" he tried again. "Draco!" The name sounded foreign on his tongue.

Calling was obviously not working, so he shuffled a bit closer and managed to nudge the table with his shoulder. Draco groaned and the sound made Ron wince, looking over to the fireplace. Wormtail hadn't moved. Ron hit the table again. Another groan and Draco stirred.

"Malfoy!" Ron hissed. "Malfoy, you have to wake up!"

Draco's head turned in his direction and the eyes fluttered open. Draco's expression was one of pain and confusion before the eyes grew guarded.

"Weasley," Draco managed, his voice breathy, "wha-,"

"Shh," ordered Ron. "Wormtail's right over there. You have to get up to untie me so we can get out of here."

Malfoy blinked a few times, but seemed to understand. The grey eyes slid to the knife that was pinning his arm to the table.

"'Course I do," said Malfoy, resignation in his voice. The grey eyes studied the knife impaling his arm and then he grimaced, right hand coming up and reaching towards the hilt before hesitating.

"Do it all at once," said Ron. "It will hurt less that way."

The cold grey eyes went to his face. "Weasel," Draco whispered, the sneer still perfectly evident in his voice, "have you ever had a knife stuck through the ulna and radius of your lower arm, piercing, what I believe is the flexor carpi radialis? And if you have had such, have you ever had the opportunity to remove said knife in a quick jarring motion and in a slow retrieval process to better determine which method of extraction causes the least amount of activity in the nerves? If not, do not presume to tell me what will hurt less."

Ron ignored the rant. He supposed if he had ever taken a knife to the arm and then was told he would have to pull it out, he would be a little unsteady as well.

"Just do it like a bandage," he said. His mother had always pulled them off in a quick swipe so that he wouldn't chicken out half way through and just leave it on until it fell off naturally.

"That analogy does not apply here!" Malfoy hissed, but then his right arm grasped the hilt and he yanked. There was a sickening tearing noise as the skin the knife had been seared to was ripped off when the knife was pulled and there was a fresh flow of blood. Malfoy doubled up, his teeth clenched together so he wouldn't scream but he was shaking again.

"Oh, Merlin," the blond ground out, his voice breathy once more and Ron was afraid he would fall back into unconsciousness.

"Malfoy, take a deep breath," Ron commanded softly. "Deep breath. It's fine; the knife is out now. You are fine."

He could see the blond head nod once and then the labored breathing slowly deepened and spread out to a slower pace. Malfoy slowly uncurled, the bloody knife still clenched in his right hand. He pushed himself up, slowly pulling down his jacket sleeve over the gaping hole, grimacing as the fabric brushed across the wound. He slid off the table.

He was shaky on his feet, but Ron didn't say anything. Malfoy went straight to cutting the rope off of him, and once Ron was free he pulled the gag over his head and dropped it to the floor. He watched as Draco picked up the sheath to the knife and slid it in, then shoved the knife through his belt. He then picked up a long piece of rope, walking silently towards the armchair.

Ron followed, somewhat nervously.

Malfoy reached the back of the armchair and then reached over it, jerking the rope around the Death Eater's neck and pulling tight with his uninjured arm, sure to stay behind the armchair so that the flailing arms of Wormtail didn't latch onto him. Ron watched in horror as Wormtail's eyes bugged out and the silver hand tried to pull the rope away, but it was so tight around his neck that the fingers had no purchase.

The rough wheezes and grunts slowly died out and the man's face went slack, and then his body limp. Still Draco held the rope around his neck.

Ron was spurred into motion and he lunged forward, knocking the blond away and the rope fell.

"The hell are you doing?" Ron demanded. "Killing him?"

Malfoy straightened. "That was the general idea," he said.

"You can't just kill a man like that!"

"What is it with you Gryffindors?" asked Malfoy. "He will gladly kill you if told to do so, and I would feel a lot better knowing that the Death Eaters numbers are down by one."

"But he was defenseless!"

"He had his wand. He could have used it if he was a bit smarter. I'm doing the gene pool a favor in getting rid of him."

Ron spluttered. "But, you can't-,"

"I can't? Give me a good reason why not to."

"He owes Harry a life debt!" said Ron triumphantly.

Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "Is that so? In that case it would be beneficial to let him live."

Malfoy reached around the armchair and plucked the wand from Wormtail's limp fingers.

"Shall we?" he asked, and then he headed for the door, not waiting to see if Ron would follow.

"Wait, Malfoy," said Ron.

Draco turned.

"I won't…I'm not going to tell anyone. Just, I don't know if people know already, but I won't…I won't say anything, about how you're…smarter."

Draco nodded shortly. "Let's go," he said.

Ron wasn't expecting a 'thank you', so he followed the blond out the door.

He didn't exactly remember the way back to the cell, but after Draco took a left and started _up _a flight of stairs, he knew they were going the wrong way.

"Wait, Malfoy, where the hell are you going?" he whispered.

"Up," said Draco.

"Shouldn't we go down? Back to the others?"

"We are going back to the others."

Ron resisted the urge to groan in frustration, knowing that Draco was being enigmatic on purpose. They didn't, after all, get along.

"Then why are we going up?" he asked.

"Because once they discover we're gone, they're going to go straight back down to the dungeons and catch us on the way. There's a Floo that I can access up here, where there won't be any Death Eaters, and then we can get down to the dungeons that way."

"How do you know that there's a Floo without Death Eaters up here?"

Draco turned slightly. "It's in my room," he said.

Ron gaped, freezing on the stairs. This was Malfoy's house? Suddenly he started looking at the building with new eyes, imagining what it would be like to wake up each morning and walk half a mile to get to the kitchen while crossing marble floors and floors covered in the softest of oriental carpeting. Or walking down a staircase with a gold banister, or passing pictures of bejeweled relatives, or opening silk curtains sewn with gold thread. Of course, that had to be tempered with the fact that Malfoy's father had just stood by while Voldemort nearly tortured the life out of him, but still, it was a ridiculously extravagant house.

"Come on, Weasley!" Draco whispered, and Ron hurried to catch up.

The upper rooms seemed to be off-limits to the visiting Death Eaters, because they passed no one in the halls, not until they reached the forth floor at least, and Ron froze at the sound of unsteady footsteps. Draco didn't, looking back at him.

"It's just mother," he said.

And then Narcissa Malfoy came into view. She still looked to be twenty-eight, though Ron knew she must be in her forties. Her skin was pale and her long golden hair was spilling down her back. She was dressed in a sapphire-blue satin gown with a string of pearls around her neck, on it a diamond pendant larger than a galleon.

"Hello, Mother," said Draco as she passed.

Narcissa seemed to notice them for the first time, and when she turned, Ron was startled to see that her pupils were dilated and her expression glassy. She was either drunk or high. Maybe both.

"What?" asked Narcissa. "Oh, it's you. Where is your Father? I need to go to Florence again. Vinnie just owled and said he would _love_ to see me again." She simpered prettily, but then looked at Draco again and frowned. "Your uncle Vinnie, of course."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Ah, yes. Uncle Vinnie. What side of the family is he from again? I wasn't aware that we were Italian." Narcissa looked somewhat peeved, but then Draco was speaking again. "I believe Father might be with the Dark Lord. Mother, do you know if Father disconnected the Floo in my room?"

Narcissa frowned. "Why would he do that? Get away from me and stop asking stupid questions."

She continued down the hall, weaving slightly. Ron stared after her, too shocked to clearly work things through in his head, but then Draco was moving again and Ron followed, pushing the troubling thoughts away. He would think about it all later.

Draco came to a door and hesitantly reached out before turning the handle. He stepped inside and immediately the room lit and the fire in the large marble grate sprang into life. Ron gaped as he entered, just remembering to shut the door.

The room was huge, and he could see doors that led to other rooms as well. There was one of the largest beds Ron had ever seen beside one wall with black silk sheets and emerald green blankets. The bed curtains were also green silk with silver thread. There was a small settee and two armchairs in front of the fire with several bookshelves and a large wardrobe stood in a corner.

Draco stared for a second as well, looking about the room with a faint expression of surprise on his face.

"He didn't change it," he said. He crossed over to the wardrobe and pulled it open. A closet full of clothing was revealed. Draco walked to the mantle, examining the trophies on it for various thestral-riding competitions and what not. The trophies were still polished and untouched by dust.

Ron would say that Draco smiled, but it was hardly a twitch of the lips, and the expression was more of a look of contentment than any real delight, but then again, Ron doubted the Malfoys would do such a menial thing as grin, so maybe in the Malfoy language, it was a smile.

Draco seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts and then crossed to a door and pulled it open. He jerked his head for Ron to follow him. There was a short hallway and then Draco pulled open another door into what looked like his own private study with a potion's lab set up in the back.

"What are you doing?" asked Ron.

"Wasting time," said Draco. He looked up at Ron. "I'm waiting until the Death Eaters think that we've escaped on our own before heading down."

"What?"

Draco smirked. "Trust me. I'm a genius." He crossed over to a cupboard and pulled the door open. He took out a crystal bottle of what looked like something alcoholic, put it on the table, and then returned for two glasses. It was then that Ron realized that Draco wasn't using his left hand. He wondered how badly it hurt.

"Have you ever had a drink, Weasley?" asked Draco, slightly condescendingly.

Ron bristled. "Yes," he said.

"How much before you start being noticeably affected?"

Ron shrugged slightly. "Maybe two firewhiskeys."

Draco raised an eyebrow and poured an inch and a half of the liquid into a glass with some difficulty. Ron realized that Draco must be left handed if he couldn't fill a glass with his right hand.

"Here," said Draco, holding out the glass to Ron.

"What for?" asked Ron, somewhat suspiciously. He didn't think that drinking was exactly the best thing to do when trapped in a Death Eater fortress.

"You were just under the Cruciatus," said Draco. "Right now you don't notice it because the adrenaline is keeping the pain from registering, but your nerve endings are pretty much fried. The alcohol helps keep you loose, believe me, I know."

"From experience?" asked Ron.

"From experience," said Draco.

Ron took the glass and then watched as Draco poured only an inch into his own.

"Lightweight, Malfoy?" he asked, not being able to resist the dig on his school rival.

Draco grimaced. "Just remember, I'm the one in charge of this escape plan. I might just leave you here."

Ron snorted, but raised his glass.

"To getting out of here alive and unharmed."

"Little late for that," said Draco.

"To getting out alive and relatively capable of functioning," Ron amended.

Draco smirked, and clinked his glass to Ron's. "Hear, hear," he remarked drolly.

They both downed the alcohol.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aww, poor Draco. Anyways, the escape is next chapter and someone isn't going to make it out, another is going to be seriously wounded, and Bill gets to be worried. Sound like fun? You know it.


	19. Of Escapes and the Number Four

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, all of my weeks would be Spring Break.

Author's note: Sorry about the late update. I was going to update last minute yesterday (aka, midnight) and then my computer decided to freeze….yeah.

**Anna**: Glad to hear that you liked the toast at the end, I thought it was a somewhat upbeat ending for an intense chapter. As for wine, yeah, it hits me rather hard too.  
**Sabireru**: I'm sorry. All this time you've been waiting for Draco's animagi form, and the time when he finally transfigures, I'm late with the chapter. That sucks…  
**Sanjs**: When I was writing it I was trying to imagine what a knife through the arm would feel like, but I really couldn't comprehend it, so I'm glad that it came across well. Thanks for the review!  
**RekkaKouyuu**: 'Kill one of the kids'? LOL! But, you know, Draco didn't join the Dark Lord because he didn't agree with the whole 'kill the kids' type thing, so I doubt he'll let that happen…  
**Lilith**: Yay! I was so afraid that something had happened when you didn't review the last chapter, but I couldn't exactly say anything like 'hey, where are you? You ok?' because then people would think that I am one of those crazy writers that keeps tabs on all of their reviewers and stalks them if they miss a chapter…which I'm not. So glad to hear that it was just the internet, and not anything else, and it makes me happy to hear from you. How's Spyrit? Again, not doing a freaky stalker thing…  
**Drewberry**: Glad you liked the blood and what not. Thanks for the review!  
**Mask**: No, Draco's dad is not Chuck Norris. Just cuz he's cool, doesn't mean he's automatically related to the best action figure in all times, well, him and Jack Bauer…  
**Bena24**: Well, maybe not exactly friends, just cuz I don't think any of them would really admit to it, but they'll be more understanding  
**Wildly****Obsessed**: Better than Jo? Wow, I'm flattered (preens slightly) Thanks for the review!  
**Carla**: Let me clarify my meaning last chapter. Someone isn't going to make it out, as in, not managing the escape. I don't know if I could really kill off a main character just yet…maybe in the third story…(hmm, not a bad idea) Thank so much for reviewing, and I'm glad that your enjoying the story.  
**R2D2**: Thanks! I'm glad that you liked the action.  
**Wings****and** **Claws**: Yeah, a few people liked the torture scene as well, and to be frank, there has to be some moments in a story where the main character gets beat up. Or, maybe I'm just weird. Huh.  
**Angel****of** **Dragons**: Hey, thank you very much! Glad you like it.  
**Freyalyn**: Umm, nope, no new chapter cuz my computer froze. But it's better now, so it'll be up in ten minutes. Of course, by the time you read this, it will already be up….

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Draco coughed slightly at the burn of the alcohol. It was just a weak brandy, but he had never been much of a drinker. Ron, to the side of him, blinked back a few tears and shook his head.

"Good stuff," he said.

Draco smirked and put his glass down, walking over to the shelves and pulling out a jar of blue liquid and then a few clean towels that he used to dry his instruments when experimenting with potions. He cut the towels into strips with Wormtail's wand, noting the effects of the spell. It was much weaker than he was used to, and the magic drifted to the right, but it was still operable, and Draco had been trained to duel with both hands, so the fact that his left was injured wouldn't affect his spell casting as well.

"Weasley," he said.

"What?"

"I need your assistance."

Ron walked over, eyeing the jar suspiciously. "What's that?" he asked.

"A crude form of anti-bacterial cleanser," said Draco. "In other words, it prevents infection."

"What do you need with it?"

"Well, there is a rather large hole in my arm. I was planning on bandaging it."

"Oh," said Ron.

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled up his sleeve, getting his first good look at his arm.

"Sick," managed Ron, turning away from the wound. Draco didn't have such luxury.

The knife had pierced his arm right where the Dark Mark would have been placed. The skin and muscle had been burned black, but in some areas the burnt flesh had been ripped away when Draco had pulled the knife out of his arm. That was where the majority of the blood was welling from, trickling down his arm to drip off his fingers.

Draco was beginning to feel the pain of his arm. After he had pulled the knife out, after he had knocked out Wormtail, the adrenaline had begun to kick in and his mind had taken over, running through escape plans and pushing any thought of his arm to the side. Now, however, it was beginning to hurt. Badly.

"Open the bottle, Weasley."

"What?"

"The jar, open it."

Ron pulled the lid off the jar and Draco picked it up, walking over to the sink and stretching his left arm over the drain.

"You aren't seriously-," Ron started, but Draco had already dumped the contents of the jar over the wound.

"Shit!" he ground out as the pain spiked again, clutching at the counter to keep himself upright. "_Shit_."

He breathed in heavily through his nose and released through his mouth as the intense sting slowly faded into throbbing and then he picked up the strips of towel.

"Weasley, I need your hand again."

Ron looked as if he was going to be ill just glancing at Draco's arm, but he came closer.

"Hold the end, will you?"

"Yeah," said Ron, screwing up his face in disgust.

Draco managed to wrap the make-shift bandage around his arm a few times and then, again with Weasley's help, tied the ends together. Red already began to seep through the cloth and Draco cursed the fact he didn't have any medical potions easily accessible.

"That doesn't look to good," said Ron.

"Tell me something I don't know."

The pain seemed to lessen with the presence of the bandage, purely psychological Draco knew, and he pulled his sleeve back down, noting the blood that was staining the left side of his jacket. He frowned; he liked the coat.

Draco then walked to his study fireplace and lit the grate. "I think we gave them enough time," he said. "Are you ready to get out of here, Weasley?"

"I never wanted to be at your house in the first place."

Draco smirked and then threw in a pinch of Floo powder. "The wine cellar," he commanded.

"You have a fireplace in the wine cellar?" asked Ron.

"Well, it was originally the dungeons, but then the house was expanded. The fireplace is mostly hidden and I don't think anyone knows about it. Follow me in ten seconds."

He took a handful of Floo powder and pocketed it before stepping through the flames. The cellar fireplace wasn't used, meaning there wasn't already a supply. He appeared in the well-kept wine cellar of the Malfoy Estate. The fireplace was in the back corner, and so Draco crept around the shelves, making sure that none of the Death Eaters had ventured this far.

He turned as Ron stepped out as well.

"It's clear," he said.

The family did not access the dungeons through the wine cellar as the main entrance was a floor up and in the eastern wing. That, however, did not mean that it was impossible to get to the dungeons from there. Like most old wizarding homes, the Malfoy Estate held a plethora of back passage ways and hidden staircases.

Draco pulled open the trapdoor in the middle of the room and climbed down the ladder, favoring his left arm. Ron followed after him, remembering to close the door without being told to do so.

This particular trapdoor led to the hall just outside of the dungeon, the exit concealed with a hidden doorway. Draco peered out the door, making sure the way was clear. He was hoping that the Death Eaters would assume that he and Ron had tried leaving the building and were searching for them elsewhere, preferably outside the house. Draco knew that such a plan was the most logical one, and so he was hoping by following the illogical one (getting the other students out as well), they wouldn't be discovered by patrols. That wasn't the only reason for going back though.

Draco paused outside the door leading to the dungeon cell that held the other students and McGonagall and turned to Ron.

"I don't know how many Death Eaters are guarding them now and it could be a little tricky."

"I'm game."

Draco passed him the knife. "Just in case."

"Let's do it," Ron nodded, grasping the knife like a sword.

Draco smashed open the door and the two burst through.

There were four Death Eaters at the table, guarding the prisoners. Apparently the Dark Lord had thought that there was a possibility Draco would go back for the other prisoners and had placed more of a guard, but Draco was pleased the number was not higher.

Draco did not target one Death Eater first. Instead he jerked the wand yelling out "Flabrorum!" A gust of wind swooped at the Death Eaters who had just raised their own wands, throwing them backwards.

Draco jumped down the last of the stairs, calling out two more spells as inwardly he cursed the fact that he did not have his own wand. Controlling someone else's wand is almost as hard as casting the Imperious curse, because the unfamiliar caster must impose his own will on the magic. When the magic core of the wand is not in sync with the caster, the spells that result are often unpredictable and wild. It also meant that Draco had to speak aloud his curses for additional strength, which gave the Death Eaters the decided advantage.

Both of Draco's spells were deflected, hitting the stone walls and blasting out a chunk of rock. Draco ducked under the explosion of debris, calling up a temporary shield to block the returning fire. He dropped the shield the next instant and let loose a slew of dark hexes, managing to hit two of the Death Eaters.

Draco rolled under a slicing hex, responding to that curse with the curse that blew out the eardrums of the victim. The Death Eater fell, but the shield Draco tried to pull up to block the blasting hex sent by the remaining Death Eater was a second too late in forming because of the unfamiliar wand.

The curse hit Draco dead in the chest, smashing him backwards and into the side of the stairs. He fell to the floor, trying to push away the black that rose up again, knowing that to lose consciousness would only put an end to the escape. He needn't have bothered.

Ron jumped on the Death Eater, plunging the long knife into the man's back. There was a gurgled cry and then the Death Eater toppled to the floor.

"Nice one, Weasel," said Draco, pushing himself up to his feet.

"Not bad yourself, ferret."

Draco snorted and then stooped by the Death Eaters, retrieving their wands. He held them each for a few seconds to get a feel for which wand was closest to his own. He finally settled on one made of cherry wood and crossed the room to the prison.

The students had been huddled in a corner by McGonagall during the attack, in case a spell went wide, but now they were getting up, staring wide-eyed at the two boys who had just taken on the Death Eaters.

McGonagall was eyeing Draco suspiciously, but Draco refused to look her way. He examined the lock on the gate and then realized the locking spell used was too difficult to be countered without his own wand.

"Weasley, check them for a key, will you?"

"Already have it," said Ron, holding up a large silver key.

"Good," said Draco. He stepped back and let Ron open the gate, crossing over to the Death Eater Ron had stabbed. The man was close to death and Draco pulled the knife out of the man's back, wiping the blade on the Death Eater's robe and finding the sheath. He found that the knife fit mostly inside his pocket, although the hilt stuck out some. Weapons were always an important part of an escape.

He surveyed the fallen Death Eaters, making sure all of them were really incapacitated and not just faking it. He frowned at the bodies. Something was brushing at the corner of his mind, something that he should know, but couldn't quite annunciate it. It had to do with the number four. He pushed the doubts aside and walked back over to the students, looking at Ron and McGonagall.

"Alright, here's the plan," he said. "I can get us to a fireplace easily enough, and then, our best bet is to make it to the owlery, because from there we can get out. I'll lead since I'm the only one that knows where he's going. Weasel, you take up the rear, be our lookout. Professor, just keep track of all the students because if one falls behind, I'm not stopping, understood?"

McGonagall looked at him a little warily, but the distrust and dislike, that usually tempered her features when he was around, was gone.

"You know where you are going?" she asked.

"It's his house," said Ron.

Draco grimaced at McGonagall's questioning look and held out the five wands he gathered from the Death Eaters.

"The cherry wood is my best match, but let me know if it's closer for you two," he said.

Both Ron and McGonagall looked through the wands, Ron taking a dogwood and McGonagall a mahogany. Draco took the cherry wood and then turned to the fourth year.

"You, David Sutherfield."

The fourth year looked up, blue eyes wide and frightened.

"Take a wand," said Draco. "The one that feels best to you."

David took the other that was not Wormtail's and then Draco picked out a blonde second year that was in Hufflepuff.

"It's Katerina Wuthers, right?"

Katerina nodded.

"And your dad's an Auror?"

"Yes."

"Did he teach you any Defense?"

"A little."

"Alright, here's a wand. Just go for the simple curses, and make them big, got it?"

She nodded and then Draco turned back to Ron and McGonagall. "We have to be fast. This way."

Draco led the group up the dungeon stairs and out the door. He pulled open the secret doorway and started up the ladder. Going down the ladder had been no problem as he hadn't really needed to use his left arm, but now it was difficult not to use it, and every time there was even the slightest jar on his hand or shoulder, the wound flared up.

Still, even he was faster than some of the smaller children and it was all he could do not to snap at them to hurry up. He peered out of the door of the wine cellar, trying to see if he could tell exactly where the Death Eaters were, but the hall was empty.

"Shit," he whispered.

He turned back to find that the students had made it up to the wine cellar and that Ron was just closing the door.

"We'll take the Floo to the top floor," said Draco, coming over to Ron and McGonagall. "The owlery is a tower on the far east side, and I can get us to the beginning of the wing, but not all the way down."

"What?" asked Ron. "No Floo in the owlery, Malfoy?"

Draco ignored that remark and threw a pinch of Floo on the fireplace. "Wait ten seconds before sending the first kid through," he said to Ron and McGonagall, and then he stepped through, calling out 'Fifth floor parlor'.

The room he appeared in was empty, and he quickly did a perimeter scan and then opened the door to peer through. The hall seemed to be deserted. Draco frowned; it was almost too easy. The number four bugged him again. He waited until all of the students made it to the room, Ron and McGonagall following close behind.

"It's down this hall," he told them. "The owlery has windows that are not warded, so we can leave through there. Follow me closely."

Once again the group slipped silently down the hall. Draco was on high alert, knowing something was full out wrong now. This whole escape plan was going too easily, and what was it with the number four? Surely they would have passed a Death Eater by now, and only four Death Eaters guarding the cell? Honestly, four was the number that Draco felt he could safely handle with a wand not his own. Five was cutting it too close.

He felt a sudden cold chill creep up his back. This wasn't an escape; it was a cat playing with a mouse. This was purely a psychological mind trick, and one that, had it succeeded, would have been jarring indeed, especially for a genius.

Draco pulled open another door, the fifth floor east wing guest room, or rather, one of them.

"In!" he commanded. "Everyone in now!"

The students ran in, frightened by his tone of voice. McGonagall and Ron approached him curiously, but Draco roughly shoved Weasley in, and then actually reached out to guide the professor in by the arm as well. He shut the door, and then warded it with every dark ward he could conjure with his stolen wand.

"What is it?" asked Ron.

Draco leaned against the door, tipping his head back to rest against the wood.

"I'm an idiot."

"That's not what you told Voldemort."

"Yeah, well maybe I'm having an off-day."

"What's the problem?"

"Doesn't this just seem a little too easy for you?" asked Draco.

"A cat," said McGonagall.

Draco smirked. "I thought of that analogy as well."

"What do you mean a cat?" asked Ron.

"You have a cat, Weasley? Ever seen it play with a mouse? It will let the mouse think that it escaped time and time again until the mouse just gives up. It makes the mouse taste better, or something."

"So he's letting us escape?"

"Why would he leave us in a room with only one Death Eater?"

"But I was tied up, and you were unconscious. You had a bloody knife through your arm!"

McGonagall looked at Draco, and for the first time, there was concern directed towards him.

"Are you well, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I'm fine," said Draco, "but we really need to get out of here."

"What about the fireplace? We Flooed to this floor, can't we Floo out?"

Draco shook his head. "Only certain fireplaces are set up to receive the Floo. This fireplace isn't one of them, and even if we did make it back to the parlor, we could only Floo around the house. To Floo to an outside location requires an escort by family."

"But you are-," started McGonagall, but Draco cut in.

"I've just been captured along with Order members and a bunch of students. Do you really think that I'm still a part of the Malfoy family? Lucius will have barred my access."

There was a strained silence and then Ron pointed to the far wall with the French window and cushioned window seat. "Can we climb out the window?"

"All windows are locked from the outside. Only family can access them, and again, not exactly a Malfoy anymore."

"Could we Apparate?" asked McGonagall. "Or make a Portkey? I know with unfamiliar wands it would be risky, but we have nothing else."

"The Malfoy Estate is protected by anti-Apparition wards, as well as anti-Portkey ones. The wards can be dropped, but the only reason they would be dropped is if the Death Eaters had thought we had escaped and they needed to Apparate after us."

Ron and McGonagall looked defeated, as did the children who had been listening into the conversation with wide eyes.

"So we are being toyed with by a very smart cat then," said McGonagall.

Draco blinked. His fingers tapped out the 1-3-2-4 pattern as his mind spun. He turned to McGonagall.

"Can you call up your animagi form with that wand?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because I think I can too."

"You are an animagus?"

"I'm not exactly registered."

"You haven't even graduated yet."

Draco smirked again. "I taught myself when I was thirteen."

He savored the shocked look on McGonagall's face while he ironed out the details of his plan in his mind.

"Alright," he said. "Weasley, stay here. Do not open the door until a cat scratches on it, got that?"

"What are you going to do?"

"You'll see," Draco promised. "Professor, you're going to have to come with me."

McGonagall nodded, and Draco slowly opened the door, counting on the fact that Voldemort would have set up an ambush, and would not be patrolling the halls, or if he was, he wouldn't attack until the actually attempted to leave. The corridor was indeed empty and Draco and McGonagall slipped out, and the door was closed behind them.

"I assume you have a plan?" the Professor asked softly.

"Our owlery is the only room that doesn't have warded windows. My father and the Dark Lord no doubt believe that I would lead you there to escape and they will be waiting for us. I need you to change into a cat and stir up the owls."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to fly out while you provide me owl cover, then I want you to run back to the room and wait for me there."

"You're going to fly out?"

Draco smirked, opening a door at the end of the hall and walking up a wide, stone stair case. He stopped at the door on the top.

"Are you ready?"

McGonagall morphed seamlessly into the tabby cat form and Draco flung open the door.

He could see the Death Eaters waiting, stepping out of the shadows, but then McGonagall was in action, letting out a mewl that caused the owls in the room to jerk around, and then the tabby was leaping at the birds.

There was a cacophony of squawks and screeches and a flurry of feathers as the owls took flight. Draco waved his wand and morphed as well, losing his human form, and shrinking. It took only a matter of seconds, and then a Black Merlin falcon rose with the flood of owls, disappearing within the frantic wings, and then the mass of owls was racing to the high windows.

The cat, which was a target of the Death Eater spells took note of the black falcon with the injured wing, and darted about the room for a few more seconds before streaking to the door.

Draco loved to fly. Normally, switching over to his animagus form meant that he could go wherever he pleased, mainly skimming over fields and performing a series of acrobatic stunts he wished he could perform on a broom. No doubt Potter could come close.

This time, however, was different, and he followed the mass of owls out the windows into the night and then glided down to the fifth floor. It was difficult, flying when his arm was pierced through, but because the knife had missed his bones, it meant that his falcon form was spared the breaks as well.

Still, it wasn't easy and it took him a few tries until he landed just on the edge of the window sill of the fifth floor east wing guest room, the third on the left. He scrambled a few times to get his grasp, alerting the attention of some of the smaller students who came to gape at the bird landing on the window.

Draco could see McGonagall return, and then the door was shut again. McGonagall returned to her normal self, but her still keen eye sight spotted the falcon on the window.

Once Draco was sure that changing out of his bird form wasn't going to send him falling, he morphed back, causing the students to stare at him in amazement. Draco found the latch to the window and lifted it, pulling the window open and then scrambling through.

"You're bleeding again," said Ron, pointing to his left arm.

Draco figured, from the increase in pain, that he had torn the wound again, and upon glancing down, he saw that his jacket sleeve was slowly turning a muddy brown as the blood stained the green fabric and his hand was smeared red.

"Doesn't matter," he said.

A few students jumped when there was a pounding on the door. It seems that the Dark Lord realized his little ambush had failed. Draco wasn't worried. The wards on the door would hold for a few more minutes, and that was all he needed.

He turned to the windows and threw both of them open, peering down below, but night had fallen and it was impossible to see the ground. Perfect. He turned back to Weasley, reaching for the necklace Bill had given him and pulling it over his head.

"Weasley, you need to do something for me," he said.

"What?" asked Ron.

Draco pulled the boy over to a corner and talked softly, but swiftly. "When you get out, you need to get to your brother Bill, and you need to give him this." He pressed the necklace into Ron's hand.

"What? Why?"

"I'm not finished. Listen very carefully because everything is riding on you giving Bill this message. You need to tell him that the ritual calls for payment, the soul has to cross the river."

"What ritual? What's going on?"

"Weasley! Just listen, alright? There is a display at the England Museum of old coins, and there is a case of coins from Ancient Rome. The coins are from the period of Quintus Flavius. Bill needs to get all of the coins but one out of the museum. He needs to make it so the display is sent to another museum, or stolen, or something, and only one coin must remain. Then, four nights from now, he should set up a team of Aurors at the Veil in the Ministry of Magic. Got that? One coin from the Quintus Flavius period should remain and four nights from now the Aurors at the Veil."

"Malfoy, I don't-,"

"You don't have to understand. You just have to do it."

"Why can't you just tell him?"

Draco silently swore at the fact that Gryffindors got so concerned and worried.

"It's just a precaution. Now, come this way, all of you."

Draco pulled open the door in the back of the room. It led to the adjoining bath and toilet.

"The Death Eaters will think that we climbed out the window," said Draco, making sure that all of the students got in. Ron and McGonagall were last to enter the room, both of them looking at him curiously.

"Won't they look over here?" asked Ron.

"No," said Draco.

"Why not?" asked McGonagall.

Draco shrugged. "Because I'll tell them that you went out the window."

"Malfoy, what-," Ron started, just as McGonagall reached out to him, obviously figuring out what he was going to do.

Draco jumped back and slammed the door shut, locking it quickly with a dark curse, and then throwing a few more on, just to be sure that they couldn't get out.

"Malfoy, what the hell!" Ron yelled. "What are you doing? Was this all some sort of plan for Voldemort?"

"Weasley, shut the hell up," Draco yelled back. "Listen, the necklace I gave you is a Portkey, are you listening?"

"We're listening," came McGonagall's displeased voice.

"The necklace is a Portkey, and if I can get the Death Eaters to believe that you all have escaped they will take down the wards. To activate the Portkey, simply flip the charm over. Make sure all of you are holding onto the necklace. Now, the Portkey was supposed to go to Hogwarts, but there are special wards on the house that will only let you Portkey just outside the Malfoy property line. From there on, you're on your own. You have to make it to the wizarding town at the end of the road and you can Floo out."

"What the bloody hell are you going to do?"

"First, I'm going to get you out. Then, I'm going to get a whole army of Death Eaters to be at the Ministry at one time and hopefully organize the biggest blow to the Death Eaters since Potter's birth."

"Malfoy, you're mad!"

"And I'm putting a silencing charm up now so your mouth doesn't give you away. Remember, tell your brother Bill. That part is important."

"I will," said Ron.

"Good," said Draco. He cast the silencing charm.

The pounding on the door was getting louder, and Draco took in a breath to steel himself. He walked over to the window and put a foot on the ledge.

He whirled around when the door burst open and the Death Eaters stormed in and then launched himself over the window sill.

He had fallen only three feet before the curse caught hold of him and he was jerked back into the room, landing hard on the floor. He responded with his own barrage of hexes and then struggled to his feet, running for the window once again.

This time he was physically stopped, an arm jerking around his neck and ripping the wand from his hand. He struggled, but then a fist was clamped around his left arm and he doubled over in pain, smothering a cry.

He was pulled upright as the Dark Lord stalked closer and Draco sneered at the man.

"So, your ambush didn't work out quite as well as you would have liked, did it?"

The Dark Lord's hand struck out and Draco's head whipped to the side from the force of the blow. Blood dribbled down his chin from where Voldemort had split his lip.

Draco laughed, spitting out blood. "What? Thought that you could out wit me, _Half_-_blood_?"

The Death Eaters froze at the insult. The Dark Lord reached out, fingers snarling in his hair as he jerked Draco's head back.

"Right now you are trying to distract me so that your little friends can get farther away. Honestly, Draco, jumping out a window? Not exactly dignified behavior."

"Maybe I just wanted to see you jump after them," said Draco. "I could put that memory in a Pensive and sell it. The Ministry could use it as propaganda against joining the suicidal Dark Lord."

The Dark Lord leered at Draco. "I won't be doing any jumping." He turned as Lucius Malfoy strode into the room.

The Malfoy patriarch hardly glanced Draco's way, but turned straight to the Dark Lord.

"You called, milord?"

"Drop the wards," said Voldemort. "We're going children-hunting, and I want them all alive, but not necessarily unharmed."

He smiled wickedly and Lucius nodded, waving his wand in a complicated pattern.

The shields crackled off and Draco silently urged Ron to get the children away. His tension must have showed, and if Draco had merely been in a room of Death Eaters, no one would have noticed, but his father was in the room, and his father had always been able to read him.

"Milord," said Lucius, watching his eyes even though Draco was avoiding his gaze. "Have you checked the bath?"

Voldemort turned to Lucius, and then whirled around to the bathroom room.

"Open that door!" he commanded.

A few Death Eaters ran forward, only to come up against the wards.

"It won't open!" one Death Eater called back.

Voldemort grunted in frustration and waved his wand. The Death Eater dropped, screaming in pain, and the others backed away as the Dark Lord strode over to the door.

The wards weren't particularly strong or clever, as Draco had been using a stolen wand, but it was still somewhat frightening to see the Dark Lord rip through them in a matter of seconds.

The door was flung open and the Dark Lord turned back.

"It is empty," he said to Lucius.

Lucius shook his head, his expression unreadable, and when he spoke his tone was matter-of-fact. "No doubt it was not so before the wards were taken down."

Draco tensed as his father walked closer to him, forcing himself not to flinch when Lucius' hand reached out to tilt Draco's head up. His father tapped his bare neck lightly, noticing the absence of the necklace.

"A Portkey, Draco? That will not get them very far."

Draco couldn't look his father in the eye, couldn't even look at his father's face, so he stared at the Dark Lord instead.

"It will get them far enough."

The Dark Lord screamed in frustration, striding over to Draco, his lips pulled back over his teeth and his red eyes flashing. Draco experienced a moment of fear and then the Dark Lord was grabbing him away from the Death Eater, the long, pale fingers around his neck.

"You will regret that," he hissed, and then he threw Draco backwards into the wall.

Draco hit the wall with a jarring force, taking the brunt of the impact on his back where he would no doubt have bruises for a fortnight, but then his head snapped backwards from the abrupt spot. He had already hit his earlier that day, on the steps of the dock, and pain blossomed, wrapping his mind in darkness. He registered the enraged form of the Dark Lord yelling out orders to get the students back, and he had one moment to hope that the Weasel and the others were running to the town and not dawdling, else the Dark Lord would catch them, and then Draco thought of nothing as the darkness over took him.

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The minute that Bill was informed of the attack on Hogwarts, he had Flooed to Hogsmeade. Students were pouring into the town, some injured and all of them badly shaken, telling stories about how the Death Eaters had just appeared in the school.

The first surge of students had been those nearest the exits, and then slowly more trickled in as evacuation routes were put into use. One of those routes had been the boats that had arrived on the dock of Hogsmeade.

The Aurors had arrived, those on the assault team heading straight to the castle while others started organizing the student refugees into groups and getting their names to contact their parents. The villagers of Hogsmeade had risen to the occasion. After all, these students had been the ones to visit during weekends and to buy toys or to go out to eat. These were the innocents, and had any Death Eaters actually showed up in the towns, the Aurors wouldn't have had a chance to get the Death Eaters into custody. The townsfolk would have attacked first.

The Aurors had set up tents for the children, complete with cots, blankets and mediwitches, and Madame Rosmerta and the workers at the Three Broomsticks were passing out butterbeers to the children. Honeydukes was passing out chocolate. The workers at the post office were sending letters and paying for the postage out of their own pocket, and a whole slew of mothers were there to comfort the little ones.

Bill noted that mostly Gryffindors were coming in by the boats, being helped out by the Aurors who would send them to a mediwitch and then to the tents, and so that was where he stationed himself. He was immediately set to work helping the Aurors unload the children, but Bill was glad to assist. His whole family was in Gryffindor, as was little Laney Chalmers-Malfoy, and Bill had no doubt that Ron, Ginny, and Draco would be leaving the school by this route.

However, as time dragged on, and as the boats stopped coming, Bill had to amend his thought. Ron, Ginny, and Draco would be leaving the school by this route if they were leaving at all.

His mum and dad showed up a bit later, desperately searching through the students for their youngest two, but Ron and Ginny simply weren't there. Bill waited at the dock, willing for another boat to come, as if by sheer will power along the more ships would arrive.

It worked.

He had been straining across the lake for what seemed like hours when he saw the first boat.

"There's more!" Bill yelled over to the Aurors. Immediately the parents that hadn't found their children were rushing over to the docks, shoving slightly, trying to see if their child was safe.

The first boat held three younger students, as did the second.

The third held Hermione Granger and little Laney Chalmers-Malfoy. A Muggle woman rushed forward to grab her, and Bill could tell, by the almost-black hair that it was Laney's mother.

"Laney," the young woman half-sobbed. "Sweetie, are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," said Laney, holding tightly to her mother. "Uncle Draco got me out."

Samantha looked up at the lake. "Where is your Uncle, baby?"

Bill looked too, spotting the next boat, and felt his heart leap with relief, and also worry, when he spotted his little sister's red-hair and not Draco's white-blond locks. Ron was still missing as well, and Harry.

Bill helped Ginny unload Blaise Zabini, who was more than unsteady, and barely lucid. The medi-witches took the boy and then Ginny was grabbing tight to Bill and he held her as well, barely registering the words she was saying.

"Wait. What?" he asked.

"They took Draco," said Ginny again. "He was right behind us, but they got to him and they Port-keyed him away. We have to find him. They'll kill him!"

Bill felt ice fingers wrap around his heart and he gently pulled away from his sister. "Mum and Dad are looking for you in the tents," he said. "Go find them, would you?"

Ginny wouldn't let him leave, latching onto his arms. "We have to get Draco out. He refused the Dark Lord and Tom hates to be denied. He'll kill him."

For the first time since the Chamber of Secrets, Bill saw true fear in his sister's eyes, and so he pulled her away from the crowd and spoke softly.

"Voldemort can't kill Draco, not yet. Draco was working on something, a translation that Voldemort needs and so he is indispensable. He will live, for now."

Ginny searched his gaze and saw that he was serious. She nodded, but her face was still pale and worry caused her forehead to furrow. She tucked a few pieces of hair behind her ear.

"I'll go find Mum and Dad."

Bill watched his sister leave and then rushed to find Dumbledore.

The Headmaster was just arriving with the lead Aurors with Harry in tow who was limping on an obviously broken leg. The medi-witches immediately carried Harry off and Dumbledore turned to Bill.

"Did Draco-," the Headmaster started, but Bill shook his head.

"Ginny saw him get taken. Laney's here, but Draco didn't make it."

The Headmaster looked grave and he reached out to clasp Bill's shoulder. "Ron is still missing as well. I'm sorry."

Bill nodded, swallowing hard.

"Harry said that by the time he got to the library, everyone was gone. Minerva has been taken along with, what initial reports say, seven children in total."

"How did this happen?" asked Bill. "I know they had the cloak of Merlin, but it shouldn't have happened so quickly."

"As far as we have been able to tell a Death Eater got in and then rigged three separate fireplaces to receive Death Eaters. They were also much greater in number than we expected."

"Do we have any idea where the Death Eaters went?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Only the inner circle know."

Bill shook his head. Ron, Draco, Minerva, seven other children…

"Once the Aurors clear the castle, I want you to get Draco's things. If you could finish the translations we will at least know what it is Draco is translating and what the Death Eaters will find out. Perhaps we will be able to form a plan then."

Bill nodded, running a hand through his hair. The Headmaster moved off to speak with some more Aurors and Bill headed back to the tents. He would check on Laney for Draco.

The castle wasn't cleared for another hour, and once it was, Bill headed straight to the Gryffindor Tower to get Laney's cat for her. She really was a sweet girl, and it was evident she was terrified for Draco.

Bill then stopped by the Head's room and gathered up all of Draco's books.

After the happy reunion of Laney and Merlin, Bill settled in a back corner of the Three Broomsticks and pulled out the parchments Draco had documented his translations on. They were all written in perfect calligraphy, but Bill could spot the paragraphs that Draco had written when he was exhausted as the lettering slanted right ever-so-slightly.

The pages were perfectly in order, as the kid was obsessively organized when it came to any sort of academic work. Bill read over the pages, committing the fourth dialect to memory and then the third. He had started on the second when a plate was set in front of him.

He looked up to see his wife standing beside him, her bulging stomach a tribute to the child she carried. They didn't know if it was a boy or girl yet as they wanted it to be surprised. She was due in six weeks.

"How are you?" she asked, leaning forward for a kiss. Bill happily obliged and then pulled her onto his lap. "I'll squish you," she laughed, but then she settled back and Bill let his hands drift to her belly where he could feel the baby kick.

"Ron's gone missing," said Bill.

Fleur stayed silent. Bill knew she must be aware of that, after all, she had come to see him, but she let him talk.

"Draco's gone too and Voldemort isn't going to be pleased with him."

"I thought you made Draco a Port-key."

"I did, but if there are other students with him, he may try to get all of them out."

"I thought Slytherins didn't do that sort of thing."

"They don't, and he wouldn't, at least, not normally, but I don't think Draco would just leave them there. He didn't join the Dark Lord in the first place because he didn't want to murder children, and he's smart, so he'll think he can pull it off."

"You're worried."

"I am. I'm worried that Ron's brash attitude is going to get him killed and that Draco's arrogance is going to get him hurt."

Fleur didn't offer any advice, instead she covered his hands with her own and they sat together in silence for a few moments. Fleur got up after a bit and gave him a kiss. "I'm off to go see how your mother is doing. Do eat something, alright?"

Bill nodded and Fleur left.

Bill did eat a little bit, but he was mostly concerned with figuring out what Voldemort wanted. He was interrupted again, but this time by a commotion in the front of the restaurant.

Bill got up, trying to see what was going on, but there was a crowd around the fireplace and then the Aurors were there, shoving all of the customers back.

Bill was tall, and he wore dragon-scale boots with a slight heel – they were riding boots – and so he was just able to make out the forms of a few small children running out the Floo, but then the Aurors had completely blocked his view.

"What's happened?" he asked a man next to him.

"Something about those missing children escaping," said the man, "but I don't know anything else."

Bill felt a surge of hope. Could Draco really have gotten all of them back already?

The Floo died out, and the Aurors rushed the students away, but Bill couldn't see who had come back and the crowd was jostling again, trying to get out the door.

By the time Bill managed to leave the restaurant, the Aurors had gotten the kids into a closed off tent, most likely to check them over and take their story. By now, all of the parents who had missing children were around the tent, holding hands, and the villagers were also present, trying to hear more.

One Auror finally stepped out. "Could I please have the parents of Amy Caldwell, Janiene French, Sarah Perkings, Ben Roster, Anna and David Sutherfield, Ronald Weasley and Katerina Wuthers come this way please?"

There were some sobs, a few 'is s/he alright?'s, and then the parents were ushered into the tent. Bill waited with the others, nervously shifting back and forth, trying to figure out if the names called were a good or bad sign.

It seemed to take forever before the first couple came back out again.

"She's alright," the mother sobbed to the world. "All of them are out."

Bill could scarcely hope to believe that and then other parents were returning as well, including Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but they were not celebrating. Bill's mother saw him and crossed over, holding her hand out and trying to push back tears.

"What happened?" asked Bill, grabbing her hand and holding onto it tight, seeking for the comfort that only mothers can give.

"Ron's been hurt," said his mother, her voice trembling slightly. "He and the other students used a Portkey to get out, but from what I understand the Portkey only took them to the edge of the estate, and they had to run for a town, but the Death Eaters pursued. The other children said that Ron and Professor McGonagall got them to a Floo, but Ron was hit by a curse, and…," Mrs. Weasley took a breath, "it's a dark curse, and he's awake right now, but they don't know for how long. There was also evidence that he had been put under the Cruciatus."

His little brother was hurt? No, not Ron. Ron had always been the active one, always the loud, sometimes oblivious one. He couldn't be – no.

"Listen, Mum," said Bill, knowing that his words sounded callous, but Draco was like a brother as well, and so he had to ask. "Did they say anything about Draco Malfoy?"

His mother frowned, no doubt wondering what had possessed him to be asking about the son of a Death Eater when his little brother was hurt so badly. She opened her mouth, most likely to rebuke him lightly, but then a medi-witch approached.

"Excuse me, are you Bill Weasley?"

"Yes," said Bill, "what is it?"

"Your brother is asking for you. He said it's important and we can't get him to settle. We really need to take him into surgery but he won't calm down until he speaks with you."

Bill nodded, ignoring the questioning look from his parents and following the medi-witch into the tent.

He passed my Minerva McGonagall on the way, who was also being checked over by a medi-witch and she was also talking with an Auror. Bill picked up a little of the conversation.

"-held at the Malfoy Estate, in the dungeons…"

Ron was lying on a cot, obviously in pain. His face was ashen and drenched in sweat and he was coughing up blood. Bill was immediately at Ron's side, the attending Healer stepping back to allow some privacy.

"Ron, it's Bill. What's the matter?"

Ron opened his eyes, but it was apparent the small movement cost him precious energy.

"It's Malfoy," he said.

Bill leaned forward. "What about Draco?"

"He said to tell you-," Ron broke off, coughing again and blood splattering from his lips.

"Ron, take it easy," said Bill.

The Healer looked over. "I really need to get him into surgery now."

"No!" gasped Ron, looking panicked at the thought. "The other part of the ritual involves coins, from Quintus Flavius. Malfoy needs you to get the exhibit out of the museum, all the coins gone except for one; you have to leave one."

Bill frowned. What on earth?

Ron continued, his voice growing hoarse. "And the Aurors need to be at the veil in four nights. The coin and the Aurors, that's what he said. You have to remember that, alright?"

"Did Draco make it out?"

Ron jerked his head to the side in a negative answer. "Said something about getting the Death Eaters together and the biggest blow to Voldemort's army since Harry was born."

Ron spasmed and Bill leaned forward.

"Ron, you okay?"

Ron reached out and Bill took his hand, looking down as something was pressed into his palm.

"You have to remember that, alright? One coin, four nights, one coin…," Ron trailed off and his body seized again, and this time it didn't stop. His eyes rolled back in his head.

"Ron!"

The Healers were there then, pushing Bill aside and whisking Ron away to the Hogwarts infirmary where the surgeon was waiting. Bill turned to watch them go, and then made his way out of the tents. The night sky had finally cleared and the moon was shining down, adding to the light of the torches planted around the perimeter of the tents, giving the Aurors and Healers light to work by.

He held up the object Ron had given him, an ivory charm on a black leather strap, and then he clenched it in his fist, staring up at the stars.

"Damn it, Draco…"

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Again, sorry about the wait, and the next chapter will be up on Tuesday like usual. Please review!


	20. Deadlines and Dead Time

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would sleep more. A _lot_ more.

**Author's****note**: Umm, yeah. I know I promised to get the next chapter up last Tuesday, however, that was before I attempted to write the chapter. Please note the word 'attempted' as it is important. This chapter would not flipping write itself! I sat down multiple times to type, and each time I ended up deleting the entire thing I had written. And I'm still not happy with it, but it's as good as it's gonna get. So, please enjoy the next installment.

**The****Unknown** **Factor**: To the non-Slytherin mind it would appear to be quite Gryffindorish, however, Draco really wants to plot this ambush on the Dark Lord. He really could have gotten out with the others, but he chose to stay back. Thanks for the review!  
**R2D2**: LOL!  
**Silvera**: Ack, I'm sorry. I've probably caused you a nervous breakdown because you had to wait two weeks, and this one doesn't end any better really. I'm sorry.  
**Lilith**: Wait, so that's permission to stalk you? Cool. Not that I am, a stalker, that is…yeah. Anyways, yes, I love your reviews, you (and Spyrit) always make me laugh. Sorry about the long wait, but glad to hear that Draco's animagi form was a hit. Thanks!  
**Joy****Cedar**: Ah, another reviewer commenting on how they like Tuesday updates and I failed (throws self on knees and begs forgiveness). But thanks for reviewing!  
**Anna**: Yes, other people will be making appearances, but more so later on after the conflict is resolved, and definitely more in the third story. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Sabireru**: Do you still love me after I made you wait for two weeks for the next update?  
**Wings****and** **Claws**: Glad that you liked it and thanks for leaving a review!  
**Freyalyn**: Hope that you made it through the long week and I'm afraid these next few chapters will be (hopefully) intense as Draco is in the presence of the Dark Lord. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Sakuya**: Crap! I missed your birthday! Wow, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you: Give me two characters that you like in the Harry Potter series and I'll write a little drabble and dedicate it to you. How's that?  
**Silke****knuts**: I know you said you couldn't wait for the next chapter, and then I made you wait. I'm sorry. Did you manage to hold on?  
**Sanjs**: Yes! The goal of every fanfic writer is to make life bearable…if only in weekly increments of seventeen pages each (which is my average chapter length). Here's a chapter for your work day…  
**Jo**: Aww! I love you too. Glad that you're liking the story so much!  
**Aims**: Thank you so much! I love to write, and the HP universe really makes almost anything possible, and I have a bunch more ideas lined up for stories. I just don't know if I have time to write them all.  
**Conngirl**: Hey, don't sweat about managing to review. I couldn't manage to update last week, so I understand. Glad to hear that you are enjoying the story though, and here's the next chapter.  
**Wings****of** **Shadows**: Yeah, stupid writer's block. Awfully sorry about the wait and thanks so much for reviewing.  
**Mikos****Girl**: Yay, I get snaps! Thanks for reviewing, and I'm glad that you like my work. They are a tad lengthy though, aren't they?  
**Spyrit**: Yay! You're back. Now I can update…alright, so the wait wasn't really intentional, but still, I'm glad that you've read the chapters, and yes, kissing Draco's pain away is def a nice thought! As for Wormtail's magic, I never thought of it that way until you wrote that. Huh, maybe you and Lilith are rubbing off on me subconsciously….

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Draco woke slowly, the throbbing in his head and the searing pain in his left arm muddling his thoughts and obstructing his fight back into reality. He pushed through the darkness, trying to orient himself, but he couldn't quite manage to open his eyes.

He was lying facedown on a hard, cold floor. It was silent around him, and the smell wasn't familiar, meaning that he probably wasn't in the Malfoy Estate anymore. It made sense. If the students had escaped successfully then no doubt Ron or McGonagall had informed the Aurors that they had been held at his old home.

Draco managed to shift on the floor, prying open his eyes. He saw a stretch of worn stone floor, finally meeting a stone wall. The stones matched, and by the amount of scratches on the surface, and by the chill and dampness in the air, he was in the basement, or dungeon, of another old building.

"Awake, Draco?"

He flipped himself over, scrambling to his feet as his eyes landed on a blonde woman sitting composedly on a wooden chair. His eyes went from the woman to the rest of the room. There was a wooden table in front of the woman and also a thick wood door with a small barred window. This was obviously a cell.

He looked the woman over, taking in the clinging, short black robes and the loose blonde curls and the bright red lipstick. He met the woman's gaze with a sardonic raise of his eyebrow.

"Miss Jameson. How nice to see you outside of the classroom setting. I find such vocations really detract from the true character of the employee. I never would have supposed you to be a professor of blood purity."

She smiled, a flirtatious, seductive smile since she was no longer hiding her personality.

"Oh, come now, Draco. Don't play coy. I know it was you that ran into the room right as I portkeyed your favorite professor away."

"I honestly have no clue to what you are talking about. My favorite professor is Snape."

Claire laughed and got up, slinking towards him. "I've figured you out, _Dray_-co. You and Bill spent quite some time together last year when he was 'tutoring' you. Do you know what else you did last year? You saved his little sister from a dark ghoul. Not exactly high on the Slytherin's priority list, now is it?"

Draco shrugged. "I was hoping he would give me extra credit for saving the brat."

"Please. I've had months to think this over in Azkaban. You never really trusted me, did you? You were the one I could never quite win over and the nicer I got, the more suspicious you became. Why is that?"

"You're a whore," said Draco frankly. "I grew up with one. It's rather easy to spot your breed now."

"I suppose you mean your mother," said Claire. "Yes, that would make you wary, wouldn't it? But I fooled Dumbledore, and so when I was handing Bill the Portkey it shocked me to hear someone calling 'Oh, no Bill! Don't do it; she's a bad lady!'" She tossed her head and snorted. "I'll have you know, your voice grated on me everyday in prison, everyday wondering who had figured me out. When I was freed, I heard the news that you, Draco Malfoy, refused the Dark Lord, and suddenly it all made sense. You, who hung out with that sickeningly-good Weasley for the entire school year, would of course be influenced by his views. But still, denying the Dark Lord seems so…stupid."

Draco smirked. "Haven't you heard? I'm a genius."

"Oh," said Claire, waving her hand dismissively, "that. Do you know what I say to that? If you were a real genius, you still wouldn't be here, would you?"

Draco shrugged. "I got everyone else out, under the nose of a supposed god."

"They got out, alright," said Claire. "But not all of them are alive."

Draco felt a moment's fear, but he brushed it away. "Can't blame me for not trying," he said.

"Don't pretend you don't care. I know your just dying to know who it is. I won't hold the suspense because the punch line is too good." She smiled. "Ron Weasley got hit by a rather nasty curse on his way through the Floo. They don't think he's going to make it."

Draco felt real fear for one of the few times in his life. If Ron was truly hurt, then Draco's whole plan was thrown off. He would be stuck with the Death Eaters until a rescue, or until he got himself out, and neither plan had very good odds. There was another implication though. He, through his last-minute escape plan, may have been the cause of death for the youngest Weasley boy.

His mask was up, and he was sure that no emotion made it through, but Claire laughed anyways, stepping right in front of him.

"Don't tell me you don't care," she whispered huskily. "The brother of Bill, dead because of your plan. Do you really think that Bill's going to want to be your friend anymore?"

"Who said we were friends in the first place?" asked Draco, stepping back from the former student teacher.

"You were sending letters to each other, Draco, and not just ones that contained information to the Ministry. I know because I read them." Claire stepped forward, and Draco once again stepped backwards, but his back hit the wall and Claire grinned.

"Does this really bother you that much?" she asked, pressing forward so that she was flush against him.

"No," said Draco.

"Then do you keep turning away from me?"

"So I can do this." Draco brought his heel down on the instep of her foot and struck out with his elbow, catching her across the nose. She stumbled backward and he hastened her fall with a kick to her side. She lay stunned on the floor, her broken nose gushing blood, and he quickly searched her for her wand, finding it in a side pocket.

It was good enough for him to use, and he managed to get the door unlocked within moments. He then cast a silencing charm to avoid any sirens when he left the cell and to prevent Claire from yelling for help, and locked the door behind him. He looked down both sides of the hall and settled on running for the left door.

He jerked it open to find one Death Eater guard, who he took out immediately, but when the Death Eater hit the floor, a small sphere fell out of his pocket and smashed. A splitting alarm sounded and Draco swore.

He could hear shouts coming from just up ahead so he turned around and ran back through the hall with his cell, passing it and a few like it and then turning left when the corridor hit another.

He could hear shouts behind him now and he silently cursed, barging through a door and nearly tripping down a long flight of stairs. He managed to regain his balance, but it didn't really matter. Six Death Eaters stood at the bottom of the staircase, and even before he realized they were there, a curse was already headed his way.

The curse, a simple tripping hex, hit his legs and he pitched forward. He tumbled down the stone steps, trying to stop himself as he fell with his feet, but his momentum was too great and he felt something snap in his right ankle and then he was careening down the steps again.

He hit the bottom hard, finally coming to rest on his side and he merely lay there for a few moments, too stunned to move. His ribs ached, and from the feel of them he had bruised his right side rather badly. His shoulders were complaining as well, a sharp sting where he had most likely scarped a few layers of skin off of them. There had been a few steps where he had just slid straight down and his shoulders had gotten the brunt of those. He had jarred his left arm again, and the wound was once again sending burning pain to his head and he believed he had broken his right ankle.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and winced, then looked up at the Death Eaters who were staring back down at him, their cruel expressions telling him exactly how much they had enjoyed that.

But through that entire spill Draco had managed to hold onto the wand and so he lashed out. He was angry and in pain and those, added to his already impressive innate power, meant that the shockwave curse he sent out was tremendous.

The six Death Eaters were slammed backwards, propelled into the air by an invisible force. The same force blew chunks out of the wall, scattering the debris across the corridor and raising a cloud of smoke. When the dust finally cleared away, the Death Eaters were lying at the end of the hall in a tangled heap and Draco forced himself to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.

"Idiots," he muttered.

He made no move to run after that; he knew it was futile in his position, besides, he felt the tingle on the back of his neck which meant someone was watching him. He turned to see the Dark Lord silently descending the stairs. By his side was Claire Jameson, who had obviously been attended to as her face bore no mark of Draco's elbow. Behind her was another train of Death Eaters.

"It appeared to be a genuine attempt at escape, milord," said Claire.

The Dark Lord nodded, stopping on the last step of the stairway, gazing at Draco with a superior sort of smile.

"So, he really was trying to escape when we caught him the last time. He really doesn't have a plan for staying with us."

"Or it could be that I saw through your little test," said Draco, trying to support a little of his weight on his right foot but his ankle flared up. Most definitely broken. "Only a fool would leave one defenseless guard in a room with a dangerous prisoner to gloat about victory, and I, realizing that you are many things, but not a fool, could have realized that you were indeed searching me out for any plans that would be detrimental to your cause. Because of this, I could have decided to try an escape anyway, just for show."

Truth be told, it had been a little bit of both. He didn't want to stick around if there weren't going to be Aurors to get him out at the Veil, but if there were Aurors there, he needed to make it look like he didn't have a plan.

He smirked up at the Dark Lord and Voldemort glared, waving his wand. Draco was flattened against the wall, unable to pull away from the stone as if he was magnetized to it. Voldemort ripped the wand from his fingers and held it out to Claire who took it with a half bow.

The Dark Lord never took his eyes off of Draco, and he could feel the first brushes of Legilimency. His mental shields were already up, but he reinforced them just as Voldemort clamped down.

Someone groaned with the effort, though whether it was himself or the Dark Lord, Draco didn't know. He closed his eyes, only focusing on keeping the walls intact. When the first wall gave way, Voldemort came across another, and another, until the Dark Lord finally realized that he had been making no progress at all, but that each wall had been pushing him farther and farther away.

There was a scream of rage, and then a crushing blow. Draco could feel his mental shields groaning and straining under the pressure. The next great blow dented the metal.

He sucked in a bracing breath.

The next blow fell, but the walls were already gone. There was a white floor and a white ceiling, stretching for miles, as far as the eyes could see, and he stood in the middle, waiting the approaching figure of the Dark Lord.

Voldemort was confused, gazing about him in ill-concealed frustration. Draco smirked.

"Welcome to my mind."

Voldemort withdrew from Draco's mind with a snap that was practically tangible and Draco opened his eyes to find himself still against the wall, and Voldemort was right in front of him, red eyes boring into his grey ones.

"Take consolation in your small victory, if you can. I assure you, you will not hold that wall for long, and your secrets will be mine. For now, I will be content with your translations." He turned to the Death Eaters and jerked his head.

The force holding Draco to the wall disappeared and he pitched forward, but two Death Eaters were there to catch him. Draco didn't bother to struggle, but let the men support his weight as he hobbled along, following the Dark Lord up two flights of stairs onto the first floor and down a hall. They entered a study, a nice study done in shades of pine and burgundy.

Draco was shoved into a chair, which he was grateful for as he didn't know how long he could stay standing. Claire came in as well, standing to the side of Draco and then more Death Eaters appeared, holding the trembling form of Lorenzo Holiday, looking worn and tired, much different from when Draco had seen him last, teaching the code breakers with Bill when the Ministry program had started. His thinning, grey hair was matted to his head and his face sported a few fading bruises. His complexion was grey and his face drawn. From the look of him and the bruises, Draco would say that he had been there ever since Claire had returned with the Curator's journals.

Lorenzo was shoved in the chair next to Draco and then the Dark Lord pulled open the curtains of the room. Morning sunshine streamed into the room, brightening the atmosphere, if that was at all possible with the wizarding world's largest mass-murderer standing in the beam of light. It struck Draco as funny, and he smirked.

"You have four days," said the Dark Lord, turning to face him.

"It may take five. I've explained this."

"It will take only four or I will start cutting limbs for your body."

"You cut any limbs from my body and I swear on the graves of my fathers that you will never get that translation. Go ahead. Murder infants in front of me and torture any girl you want, but you will not touch me again and regain that bit of your soul behind the Veil."

His voice was cold, deadly, and no one could doubt the truth in his words. Voldemort stiffened, his expression twisting into an ugly sneer.

"Four days," he hissed. "And you will explain every move you make to this sniveling excuse for a translator and also your late student teacher. If you try one time to fool me, or if they suspect that you are stalling for time, I will be only too happy to find one of your dear school friends and kill them slowly in front of you. No doubt they are safe for now, but they cannot hide with Dumbledore forever, so in mind of their future, don't toy with me."

"You can't expect me to translate and teach in four days," said Draco. "I'm a genius; I understand things they can't."

"Then make them," said the Dark Lord.

"In four days? And entire new set of runes?"

"I suggest you don't sleep then."

The Dark Lord was no fool. Just giving Draco free reign over the translations without anyone understanding what it was he was doing would give him too much power.

The Dark Lord leered and started for the door.

"I need a blood-replenishing potion, preferably a few of them, some bandages, and a pain reliever," said Draco. "Some disinfectant too."

The Dark Lord froze before turning around once more.

"You dare order _me_?" he demanded.

"You want your Horcrux in four days? I'm going to have to be able to concentrate, and right now I have a broken ankle, a concussion, and a bloody hole in my writing arm. Those aren't exactly conducive to attentiveness. I'm just stating the facts here."

The Dark Lord snarled and jerked his head at Claire, who nodded. She left with the rest and the door shut with a snap and then locked. Silence fell and Draco turned to Holiday.

"So," he said.

"Why you?" asked Holiday.

"Why do you think?" asked Draco.

"Your father is Lucius Malfoy."

"So I've heard."

"He's a Death Eater."

"And I'm not," said Draco. "Or did you miss that fact?"

There was quiet between them. Draco looked about the room. It was a large study and richly wealthy families. The insignia over the fireplace proved that it was indeed the Nott's home.

"How long have you been here?" asked Draco.

"Around a week," said Holiday. "They want me to translate the Persian Runes and I've been trying to tell them that it's impossible, but they aren't listening. They gave me some journals from that Curator who was killed by Death Eaters, but they aren't really a help."

"Have you been anywhere else besides this room?" asked Draco. "Do you know where the Death Eaters are stationed?"

Holiday looked at him as if he was insane and Draco mentally groaned. Holiday was too scared to be of any help.

The door reopened and Claire and two other Death Eaters came in. The Death Eaters were carrying journals, papers, quills and ink; Claire was carrying a medical bag.

"Trust me enough to patch you up?" she asked, smiling at him with a predatory grin.

"No," said Draco.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice. The Dark Lord has made your personal health my problem, so roll up your sleeve and let's see what the matter is."

"The matter," said Draco, "is that he put a bloody knife through my left arm. I'm also left-handed, so you'll be writing for me."

"Don't count on it. Roll up your sleeve."

Draco clenched his jaw as he pulled his jacket and shirt sleeve up. When he was thinking and plotting and scheming, he could keep the pain in the back of his mind, but this made him realize that he had been through a lot this past twelve hours, and he was stuck for four more days with the Death Eaters. It would be a miracle if he made it to the fourth night, and he would need to be functioning on a rather high level if he wanted his plan to work. And then of course, if the Aurors hadn't been warned, Draco was going to have to get out on his own, and he didn't want to think about how complicated that was going to be.

His arm was still leaking blood and the flesh around it was pink and hot to the touch. It was becoming infected.

Claire smeared a green gel over the wound with a cotton swab and the gel eased the burn as well as fighting the infection. She re-wrapped his arm and then gave him two blood-replenishing potions to drink.

"What else?" she said.

"Broke my ankle."

She gave him another roll of bandage and a pain reliever. "You can do that yourself."

Draco was not complaining; he did not like the former student teacher near him. He wrapped his ankle as best he could, thanking Merlin that it appeared to be just a hairline fracture and not something that needed to be set. He then downed the pain reliever.

"Well, genius boy," said Claire, gesturing to the table, "get to work. We're right behind you."

Draco pulled over the journals, skimming over the beginnings of the translations before tossing them aside. He set the Persian Runes beside him and began to write out the fifth dialect from memory, clinching his jaw as the motion aggravated the pain in his arm.

"I first translated when we know as the fifth dialect," he explained, "because that was actually the first. This passage in _The Averne_ is written in what we think of as the second dialect and we need to translate that as well as the title. The title is important because the beginning of the chapters tell us what is needed for the ritual to pull the Horcrux from the Veil, while the chapter itself speaks of the chant to be performed and all the particulars. I was working on translating in hopes to get the Horcrux out without the Dark Lord, and managed to get the fourth dialect translated already."

He finished writing and then pushed the paper over. "This is the fifth, or the first dialect. To understand the second, you first need to learn that one. Look over that and let me know when you get it. I'll be working on the third dialect until then as time is of the essence."

He didn't wait for their assent, but started translating, or pretending to. He knew what he had done the first time he had translated the runes, and so he would just follow that pattern and make it look like he was thinking intently.

Inwardly he was trying to figure out the odds that the Aurors would actually be at the Ministry when he needed them to be there. He didn't doubt that Ron had been hit by a curse; there was no lie in her expression when Claire had told him so. The only question was whether or not Ron was conscious when he arrived in Hogsmeade. If he had been, then there was a good chance Bill had been told. Even if Ron hadn't managed to tell Bill, he could have passed on the information to McGonagall, although Draco didn't know if the teacher would have taken it as seriously.

He sighed, shifted, and frowned when something bumped his leg. There was a weight in his pocket that he was just becoming aware of and he discreetly reached under the table into his pocket, nearly starting with surprise when his hand closed around the hilt of the knife he had put there after getting the students out of the jail cell in the Malfoy home.

But the knife hadn't fit completely inside of his pocket, so why was it smaller now? It had shrunken nearly by half. And why hadn't the Death Eaters seen it on him and removed it?

He pulled his hand back out of his pocket and patted the outline of the knife on his thigh. He could definitely feel it through the school trousers, so shouldn't the Death Eaters also have felt it?

He glanced down, only to get another surprise. There was no evidence that there was anything in his pocket just from looking at his trousers. The black cloth was not stretched over the blade or hilt or anything. It was as if the pocket was indeed empty.

Before Claire got suspicious he turned his eyes back on his paper and began to write again, slowly because of his arm, mulling the knife over in his head. The fact that the blade had heated up meant that it was no ordinary dagger, probably a dark artifact. It was possible that the knife, because it had been used to mark him, had also been bound to him.

While Draco would have preferred having a wand, he was not going to complain. At this moment, any advantage was a blessing.

Draco went back to the runes, turning over possibilities in his mind. His best bet was to wait until they went to the Veil. If the Aurors were there, then Draco could commence with the ceremony and wait for the Aurors to make a move. If not, he would have to play it by ear, but he was relatively confident he could at least alert the Ministry guards and if he couldn't escape, he could at least leave a message for the Order to find.

Normally he disliked relying on anyone else, but in this case, he could make an exception.

-------------------------------------------------------

Bill ran up the few steps of the main entrance at Hogwarts and the thestral-pulled carriage that had brought him to the school pulled away. Normally he would have Flooed straight over from the Museum, but the fireplaces were getting re-warded from the 'hacking' that the first Death Eater had done to get others inside the castle.

He pushed open the doors and strode through the halls, passing a few students who were waiting to be picked up by their parents, or had siblings in the infirmary still, but the majority of the students were gone. Hogwarts was officially closed, and would reopen after Christmas break, but not at its usual time. Because of the attack, the entire castle was going under renovation on the wards and magic surrounding the school. The students would be missing over three weeks of school before Christmas, and perhaps a week or so afterwards, so the school would be running late, through June, maybe even the first week of July if needed.

There were several Ministry officials in the halls as well and Bill greeted them with a nod as he passed. He then ran up the stairs, heading to the infirmary where Dumbledore probably was.

The infirmary held a few families, as many of the children who had been taken by the Death Eaters were held overnight for observation, but it was nearing mid-day and so the students were either gone or in the process of leaving, all except his family.

Bill crossed over to the collection of red-heads, giving his mother a hug.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, pulling away. She frowned at his appearance. "Have you even gone to bed?"

Bill gave her a wry smile. "Not yet," he said. "How's Ron?"

"Still in a coma. The doctors don't want to try to pull him out yet because they say his body needs time to heal a bit."

"They are going to try and wake him though, aren't they?"

"In two days, and if he doesn't wake up then, they'll give him another day."

"But what if he doesn't wake up then?" asked Bill.

"They'll keep trying until he does."

Bill nodded and his dad stepped forward, clasping his hand.

"Bill, how's Fleur? Did you see her back home?"

Bill flushed. "Ah, actually no." He had told Charlie to take her back.

"I took her back," said Charlie, coming forward as well. "Bill had to run off to do some translating for Dumbledore."

"Translating?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"It's, uh, actually confidential," said Bill. He was lying, but he really didn't want to have to explain to his parents right then because it would just lead to all sorts of questions, questions that would be answered by mentioning a certain white-blond, teenaged genius and Bill didn't know if Draco exactly wanted his secrets revealed to a family which didn't exactly get along with his own.

"Confidential?" asked his father, not believing him.

"It involved a Ministry operation," said Bill, "and I don't know exactly what has been cleared and what hasn't yet. Dumbledore will probably talk about it at the next meeting. Do you know where he is?"

"He's talking with Pomfrey right now," said Charlie, "about the best course of action for Ron. The doctors recommend leaving him here, because they don't want to move him, and so Dumbledore's making arrangements for him to stay here, perhaps even keep some of us in Hogwarts to keep him company."

Bill nodded and then left the group to get away from the faintly disapproving looks of his parents. He knew that they were just worried about him, because his last stint working for the Order hadn't exactly been ideal, but he still grew uncomfortable when his parents were at odds with him, even now that he was an adult. He had been up all night and was completely exhausted, so he sat down in one of the chairs next to Ginny who was reading one of her wizarding philosophy books.

"Pete Novick?" he asked.

"Marlin Brimley," said Ginny, not looking up. "It's his new book; it just came out two days ago. I pre-ordered a copy and it came in yesterday."

"You seem to be pretty far into it for just getting it."

"I haven't slept."

Bill frowned. "You okay?"

"It was an eventful night," said Ginny, still not looking up.

"It was."

"Blaise is doing better though, so that's good."

Bill didn't comment on the change of subject; Ginny always got around to the point eventual.

"He's down the row of beds and he'll be leaving tomorrow and Hermione was released this morning, but she's still with Harry who won't be able to leave until tomorrow. He didn't just break his leg; he spiral fractured it."

Bill still waited.

Ginny put down the book and looked at him.

"I saw Tom the other day," she said. "He was there when Draco was caught. He didn't go outside or anything, but he stood in the doorway. He recognized me."

"He recognized you?"

"Our gazes met," she said. "It was weird."

"Weird?"

"I'll let you know when I have a better word for it."

Bill thought for a moment before speaking again.

"How did seeing him make you feel?"

Ginny laughed, pulling up her book again. "That's a very therapist-like question. Honestly, it really was just weird. It threw me a little bit because I thought the next time I would see him would be on a battlefield or something, but that was it."

"So that wasn't what kept you up?" asked Bill.

"No."

"What was then?"

"It was a busy night," she said. "I was tensed and full of adrenaline, my best girl friend was knocked out by a spell that put her in the infirmary for the night, her boyfriend broke his leg badly, my brother was kidnapped, and then returned severely injured. Also Blaise, one of my best guy friends, got a concussion and I had to watch him bleed for ten minutes straight while trying to keep him awake in the boat so he wouldn't slip into unconsciousness all while making sure that Laney and Hermione's boat wasn't attacked by Death Eaters. And when they did try to capsize the boats, I had to use a dark spell to stop it."

"You used a dark spell?" asked Bill, not knowing how he felt about that.

"Yes, Draco showed me before he got caught. And you interrupted me, I wasn't finished."

"Oh," said Bill, "go on."

"Thanks. And then once we made it back to Hogsmeade I had to give my statement to three separate Aurors, and although they offered me tea, I hate tea and they had no decaf coffee, so I drank the regular coffee which really keeps me up. And then I had to reassure mum and dad and all of my over-protective worrying brothers that I was fine and the one brother I wanted to talk with disappeared and went who knows where for the entire night."

She stopped, taking a breath and releasing it before looking up at him.

"Feel better now?" asked Bill.

"A little," she said. "Yeah."

"Something still bugging you?"

She hesitated before shaking her head. "Yes, but you don't need to know."

"I don't need to know?" Bill asked.

"You'll just make a big deal of it, so no, you don't need to know."

"What if I promise not to make a big deal about it?"

"Remember when I went on my first date, and I only told you because you promised not to make a big deal about it? You proceeded to freak out and then you told mum and dad."

"That was two years ago."

"Exactly," said Ginny. She went back to her book.

"Wait," said Bill. "Does this have to do with a boy?"

She didn't answer; that meant yes. Bill wondered what boy she was interested in now, but because she obviously wasn't ready to talk about it, he didn't push.

"I'm glad you're alright," he said.

"You worry too much."

"Hey," said Bill, poking her side. "Who changed your nappies when you were young?" Who brushed your hair and put it into eight braids because it was you favorite number, huh? Who took you to your first Quidditch game because mum and dad said you were too young to go? I have a right to worry."

She laughed and then Bill looked up as Dumbledore and Pomfrey left her office. Bill patted Ginny on the head, like he did when she was younger, and then crossed over to the Headmaster. Poppy hurried off to make her rounds and Dumbledore and Bill found an empty corner to speak in.

"I contacted the Museum," said Bill. "The Curator, Henry Ables, is a friend of mine and he's having the coin display shipped to the German Museum. He also managed to date the shipping as occurring last week, just so no one will be able to tell that it was moved last minute. There's one coin left in the display as a show, along with a notice giving details of the display and that it's expected back next month."

"Good work," said Dumbledore.

"What did Kingsley say about having Aurors in the Ministry?"

"He's posting a guard every night until the Death Eaters show up. They'll be an actual ambush planned for the night Draco told Ron, but just in case something goes wrong, or the Death Eaters hold off a night, we'll know when they come."

Bill nodded, relieved to hear that.

"You look worried William. Draco is a smart boy; he will get through this."

"He'll get through it, but in what condition? When he got me out last spring, I….," Bill trailed off, shaking his head. "It's not something I would wish on anyone, especially not Draco, not when he's done, is still doing, so much. Besides, even with the ambush, even with all the best planning, something could still go wrong, and the knowledge that I have to wait another three days is unbearable."

"Snape believes that he will be called in soon, along with the Death Eaters who are not in the inner circle. He will be able to keep an eye on Draco. I've given Snape a Portkey to slip to Draco in case of an emergency."

"I gave Draco a Portkey," said Bill. "I even got his word, his promise, that he would use it if something went wrong."

"He did use it," said Dumbledore.

"What?" asked Bill.

"Draco is a Slytherin and Slytherins love technicalities. He did use the Portkey, to get the children back."

"But he said-,"

"But he never said he would use the Portkey personally, did he?" asked Dumbledore.

Bill blinked and then groaned, running his hands through his hair. "When he gets back," he told the Headmaster, "I am going to lock him in a room and leave him there until he forgets all of these crazy plans of his and decides to become a recluse that stays in his own house and comes up with mathematical theorems and the what not."

The Headmaster smiled. "Good luck to your endeavor then Bill."

Bill nodded and the Headmaster moved off to go speak to Minerva who was also still in the infirmary but in a farther corner to provide her some privacy. Bill sighed and leaned against the wall, but his thoughts were interrupted when his stomach growled. He needed to eat something and then go to bed.

"Hey," said Charlie, coming over, "I was going down to the Great Hall for some lunch. Want to come?"

"Most definitely," said Bill.

He pushed himself off the wall and they walked down to the Great Hall where there was a table full of food set buffet style. There were a few families eating there before they left, and a few Ministry workers were also on break.

Bill and Charlie served themselves and then found a place on the Hufflepuff table where there was no one around them and sat.

"You know," said Charlie, after a few moments of silence, "I can't help but think that you're not really telling us the entire story."

"The entire story?" asked Bill.

"It's reminding me of last year when you told us you were taking the job at Hogwarts, but you never really told us why. Then, we found out after you were hospitalized, that you were actually spying on Death Eaters. You aren't still spying, are you? I mean, you've got a wife and a kid on the way."

"I wasn't spying on Death Eaters," said Bill.

"Then where were you these past few months?"

Bill put down his fork and sat back. "Alright," he said, "but, I'm only telling you this because you can keep your mouth shut."

"It is one of my finer talents."

"I was in France, taking information from a spy on the streets and putting it into a code using Ancient Runes, or rather, the Persian Runes."

"The Persian Runes?" asked Charlie. "You translated them?"

"Not me," said Bill. "The student that helped me escape the Death Eaters last year did."

"I thought you said you couldn't remember how you escaped. Wait, a _student_?"

"Yeah. One of my students helped me escape the Dark Lord," said Bill. He paused, waiting for Charlie to come to the right conclusion. It took a few moments.

"No," said Charlie, put his fork down and staring at Bill. "No way."

"Yes," said Bill.

"No, that's…that's insane. What other students did you have in your class?"

"He was the only one with information about the Death Eaters. He was the only one that could have found me."

"But…_Draco__Malfoy_?" Charlie asked in an incredulous whisper.

"You know I was tutoring him, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I wasn't. Not really. We were working on the Persian Runes, and we started talking. Nothing big at first, but he started to relax around me, and then the topic of Death Eaters and what not came up."

"This is insane," said Charlie.

"Don't I know it," said Bill. "It turns out Draco wasn't exactly sure of the whole idea of blood purity and all that. He's a smart kid, and so he saw the hypocrisy of having a Half-blood leading the cause, and he also felt that there was some moral wrong in killing children."

"But his father is Voldemort's right hand man."

"His father isn't around all that much though, and his mother, well, from what I've heard, she's pretty bad, so Draco was pretty much left to raise himself. He hates people telling him what to do, and so he isn't one to believe something just because everyone else does. He likes making his own decisions."

"And you helped him decide that being a Death Eaters wasn't exactly a good career to choose?"

"Yeah," said Bill. "Pretty much."

"And in return he rescued you from Voldemort?"

"Yeah."

"And then he translated the Persian Runes?"

"Yeah."

Charlie shook his head. "What is he? Some kind of wizarding genius?"

Bill smiled and Charlie stared.

"You're serious," he said.

"That's why Voldemort went after him," said Bill. "We think that Bellatrix Lestrange was wearing the necklace that held Voldemort's Horcrux and when she and Sirius were fighting, Sirius grabbed it when he fell through the Veil. The chain must have broken, and so Sirius took it through with him. The instructions on how to work the Veil are written in a dialect of the Persian Runes so Voldemort grabbed Draco."

"But how did he know that Draco could translate the Persian Runes?"

"Because after I coded the information my contact gave me, I sent the letters to Draco to translate them. My safe house was breached, and they found a few of the letters Draco and I exchanged."

Charlie shook his head again. "Never in a million years would I have suspected that. That is, without a doubt, the wildest story I have ever heard."

"So, now you know why I can't really tell anyone. It's not exactly my story to be telling in the first place. Besides, I doubt Draco would really appreciate me spilling his every secret, especially because he isn't part of the Order because he doesn't really get along with everyone."

"Yeah, I can see that as being somewhat upsetting," said Charlie. "When everyone else does find out though, I promise to act surprised."

Bill smiled. "I'm holding you to that," he said.

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Again, sorry about the wait. And I will try very hard to get the next chapter up Tuesday, but, no promises, seeing how well I held up my last promise, but I shall make every effort to get back to Tuesday updating. Please leave a review!


	21. Musings before Fate's Doorstep

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, which sucks, because if I did, I'm sure I could sell this as a spin-off series. Wouldn't that be cool?

Author's note: So, at the end of the chapter, I sorta went on a tangent about Fate. Why? Because I had to find a filler for the second half, and Bill's piece wasn't long enough, but I couldn't start the Veil/ritual/does-Draco-escape part until next chapter, otherwise I would have half of it in, and half not. So, instead I have different characters musing about Fate, and the activities leading up to the ritual and ambush because I wanted to try something new. Let me know if it worked for you, or not.

**Sabireru**: Yup, Charlie's the dragon one. I've always liked him too. Thanks for reviewing, and glad you liked it, but I can't tell you about Ron, because then I'd give it away. Sorry.  
**Silke Knuts**: Wow, you're in Belgium? That's really cool. How's the weather over there? Thanks for reviewing!  
**RekkaKouyuu**: Draco will be fine fake translating, just getting out will prove to be the problem. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Ciri**: Lucius does have redeeming qualities, but don't get your hopes up because, well, he isn't exactly redeemable, sorry. But he does have an integral part to play. Thanks for the review!  
**Anti**-**muppetmadness**: Thank you so much! I'm glad that you liked AtW, though I go back and read it now and I cringe at my typos and what not, but what can you expect as a first fic, right? And glad to provide you pleasure on your camping trip. I'm not much for camping, but I think a good dose of Draco would make any experience better. Thanks again!  
**Anon**: Glad to see that you found my other stories! I think the Code is my favorite to write, so I'm happy you liked them too, esp. seeing as it took me so long to update on the others. Thanks for reviewing!  
**R2D2**: I made your blood pressure go up? Cool, although maybe I should start disclaiming on that as well, lol. Thanks!  
**Bena24**: I think it was because I had so much trouble writing it, that no matter what I did, I wasn't going to like it, even if it did turn out okay. Thanks!  
**Conngirl89**: I'm sorry about college and your phone, but you know what, I got wait listed on the one college I wanted to go to as well, and it sucked, but things all worked out because I met a bunch of amazing people here. Things will work out for you too. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Spyrit**: Rest easy. Charlie's not a spy. He's just Bill's confidant because Bill needs someone he can talk to, and they are closest in age. As for Bill being called 'William', yeah, I figured it was something Dumbledore would do. And don't learn the art of short reviews, it is the one masterpiece that is the bane of the fic writer's existence. As always, thanks.  
**Anna**: Well, here's the set up for the brilliant Draco-plan, and we'll see the results next week. Hope you like it!  
**Sakuya**: I'll put your one-shot up! You can get to it on my profile. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Drewberry**: Here it is! Thanks so much!  
**Sanjs**: Lol, Ron and Draco drunk together. That would either be lethal, or really funny. Thanks!  
**Lilith**: Yeah, I always figured Charlie and Bill to be confidants with each other, and Bill needs to be able to tell someone, I think. And the set up is all in this chapter, the action in the next, and no, haven't brainwashed me, sorry. Thanks!

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Draco stared at the wall in front of him from where he sat not three feet from the pine green wallpaper covered in parchments. He tilted his head to the side, making a show of trying to figure out the Runes.

"Have it yet?" asked a bored voice behind him.

"I'm thinking."

"You've been staring at the wall for half an hour now."

Draco continued to run his eyes over the runes. This one section, trying to translate over into the second dialect, had taken him awhile and so he was playing it up.

"Hey, genius boy!"

"Still thinking."

"You're not thinking; you're glazing. You don't need another wakefulness potion, do you?"

"Do you realize how many of those I've had in the past three and a half days?" asked Draco.

"I care why?"

"Eight," he said. "Do you know what that does to a body? It wears it out. A few more and I could have a stroke, or a heart attack, at the age of seventeen."

"Real tragic, I'm sure."

"Go screw the Dark Lord."

"Go suck off Dumbledore."

"That's the Order's job."

Claire snorted and then walked forward. "What are you even trying to do?"

"Trying to bore a hole through the wall by focusing my mind's energy on one spot."

"Very funny."

"Not as funny as the people who believe you can actually do it."

"Seriously, what part are you on? I don't want to keep the Dark Lord waiting. Scratch that, _you_ don't want to keep the Dark Lord waiting."

"Maybe I like the suspense."

"Maybe you like being tortured."

"I thought you were the one that was into blood-play."

Claire laughed, but didn't deny it. "You know, you're not half bad, _Dray_-co."

"Over forty-eight hours without sleep causes one to feel and behave as if they were drunk, although, I have had the wakefulness potions, which would counter that, but not by a lot. I think with the wakefulness inducers it might take seventy two hours. Either way, I'm drunk off no sleep."

"I bet you're a blast to have at the parties." Her tone was dry, teasing. It was amazing what spending three and a half days locked in the same room could do to people. Then again, Draco was also extremely sleep deprived, seeing as he had been awake ever since his second escape attempt. Exhaustion meant he wasn't quite as cold and aloof as he usually was. Claire got to take breaks, so Draco couldn't attribute her friendliness to that, but he had a feeling when she wasn't trying to seduce someone, she was just genuinely…friendly. Friendly wasn't the right word, but he couldn't quite think of the right synonym.

"Don't like parties all that much," he said, "although, when I was in the States, I attended a math conference and they had a banquet-type thing afterwards. That was fun. I got to discuss advanced mathematical theories with Muggle professors who spend their life studying that stuff."

"I take it back," said Claire.

Draco smirked and leaned back in his chair. "I see it," he said.

"See what?"

"The connection between adverbs and adjectives. Do you see it?"

"Do I look like a genius?"

"You look like a prostitute," said Draco. Today she was wearing a blood red dress, not even an attempt at robes, and it was worse than something Pansy would wear. "Is the Dark Lord ever going to take your hints?"

"They're not even hints anymore," said Claire. "They're outright suggestions."

"Is that a little kinky though? Trying to nail a mass-murderer who is more than twice your age in a newly rejuvenated, but yet still warped, body?"

Claire shrugged. "Maybe a little, but I can't help it. He's so…inspiring."

"Expiring, maybe," said Draco.

"Is he just not attracted to you?"

"I think he's just oblivious."

"I thought he was supposed to know everything."

"You're a genius, right?"

"Yeah," said Draco.

"Do you understand women?"

"I see your point, but he's supposed to be a god."

"He is, but his power is diminished without the other pieces of his soul."

"And you want me to get the Horcrux out of the Veil so you can shag the Dark Lord."

"It would be nice," said Claire.

Draco laughed. "You have to go back to the fifth on this one."

"What?"

He pointed to the runes on the wall. "Back to the fifth, or the first translation to get the connection."

Claire squinted at the papers. "Oh!" she said.

"There you go," said Draco.

"So that's it? We're done?"

"Well, now we actually have to translate the chapter and title, but yeah, on the homestretch."

Draco got up and used the chair to help him hop back to the table. He sat down and picked up a quill.

"Don't take this the wrong way, or anything," said Claire, "but I actually might be sorry to see you die."

Draco snorted. "I'm not going to die," he said.

"Well, when the Dark Lord is through with you-,"

"He's not going to be through with me," said Draco. "Do you know what else I am capable of?"

"No, what?" asked Claire.

"I'm working on a counter to Veritaserum," said Draco. "Do you really think he would throw that away?"

"Oh," said Claire. "Well…good."

"Don't take this the wrong way or anything," said Draco, "but when I finally get away from this place, if you're in my way, I might have to kill you."

"What?"

Draco shrugged. "It's nothing personal; just try to stay out of my way."

"You don't honestly think you can get out of here, do you?" asked Claire.

"Dunno," said Draco. He frowned when he heard his words slur and tried again. "Don't know. Shit, that wasn't even a complete sentence."

Claire laughed. "You really are drunk, aren't you?"

"Maybe," said Draco. "Get those pages off the wall for me, will you?"

"Why can't you?"

"I have a broken ankle."

"And you're my prisoner."

"Oh, yeah," said Draco. He pushed the chair back and made his way over to the wall. In addition to hobbling, he was also swaying, and he nearly toppled over, but then Claire was there to catch him.

"Whoa," she said. "You obviously can't hold your liquor."

"Never could," said Draco.

She helped him back into his chair and he had to bite back laughter.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

Draco shrugged. "Dunno," he said, then shook his head. "I don't know." He may have over articulated those words so that they came out properly. "I didn't think being held hostage by the Dark Lord would be this funny."

"You think this is funny?" asked Claire.

"Right now, everything is funny."

"Then why aren't you laughing more?"

"Malfoys don't laugh," he said seriously.

"That sucks," said Claire.

"Yeah, a little bit," he allowed. He looked over at Holiday who was slumped over the table, fast asleep. "Why does he get to sleep?"

"Because he drove you insane, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," he said. The man had objected to every step Draco had taken, insisted that his way was correct, and then had sniveled and cringed every time Claire threatened to get the Dark Lord.

Draco picked up the quill and started writing out the translation. This part of the job took two hours, because he hadn't had the chance to translate the chapter before this, and so he really was doing actual work on absolutely no sleep.

"There," he said, pushing the paper away from him. "I'm done."

Claire took the page from him. "How come it is that you still have really nice handwriting, even when you're half asleep?"

Draco shrugged and yawned. "Force of habit?" he asked.

"You need another wakefulness-inducer?"

"I need to sleep," he said. He knew that, if he was forced to take wakefulness inducers until the night, when the Death Eaters would attempt the break in, he would have no chance of escape if the Aurors weren't there, and even if they were, he still had to get out of the line of fire. He couldn't do that in his current position.

Claire studied him. "You look like hell."

"Thank you."

"So this is the ritual then?"

"Seems pretty ordinary. We'll need candles, water, a blood offering - just a goblet full - and an ancient coin. We'll also need to teach your friends some chants, which may be difficult for them when we take into account their mental capacity, but it's relatively straight forward."

The door opened and Voldemort strode in.

"Well?" he demanded.

"I'm done," said Draco. He blinked, trying to clear his vision again. "Do you want me to read it out loud, or do you think you can handle it by yourself?"

The Dark Lord turned red eyes on him, the thin, bloodless lips turning into a leer.

"Crucio," he said calmly.

Draco had not been expecting that. Maybe if he had been on top of his game, or if he had taken the anti-sleep aid, he would have realized that talking back to the Dark Lord, after he had just given the Dark Lord what he wanted, wasn't a good idea.

The curse took hold of his body and he jerked out of the chair, the scream leaving his lips, but only for a moment. Then his jaw was clenched and the scream was broken off, leaving him writhing on the floor.

The Dark Lord removed the curse, crossing to the table. Holiday had woken up and was pressed back in his chair, trying to move away as Voldemort picked up the pages.

"You are sure of this?" he asked Claire.

She shrugged, expansively, so that her chest, barely constrained by the tiny dress, rose and fell. She wasn't wearing a bra.

"I understand the basis of translation, but I'll have to check that over before we know for sure."

Voldemort turned to Holiday, but was still speaking to Claire.

"He was asleep." It was an accusation.

"He wasn't doing anything but whining and objecting. It was…extremely trying."

"He was of no help then?"

Draco's eyes widened, turning to Claire and shaking his head frantically. She saw his expression and merely smiled. She was, even after all of their banter, a Death Eater. He had forgotten.

"No."

"Avada Kedavra."

Holiday was dead before he fully realized what was happening and his body fell limp next to Draco, cloudy blue eyes staring straight at him.

Draco scrambled to his feet, or rather his foot, and managed to stumble a few steps back from the body. The Dark Lord turned on him, waving his wand, and he was smashed against the wall, sliding up until his feet could no longer touch the floor and he was hanging from the curse alone.

"So, you have outlived your usefulness," said Voldemort, coming forward.

Draco hated the pasty skin that no doubt felt as cold and clammy as it looked and for one moment he wondered why on earth a woman as good looking as Claire wanted him. He shook the thought off.

"Usefulness?" he asked. "I'm a bloody genius."

Voldemort stepped closer and even though Draco was off the floor, the Dark Lord was still taller than him. It was imposing. A long, pale hand reached out and clamped around his neck. Slight pressure was added.

"I'm not interested in what you can do," he said. "For me, the knowledge that I have ridden the Order of their greatest weapon is enough. I want you to know, before you die, that I will take great pleasure from this."

So, he was smarter than Draco gave him credit for. Draco was sure that the Dark Lord would want to exploit his mind, use him to give him the advantage. The Dark Lord obviously realized that trying to hold onto a genius was more trouble than it was worth, and killing him before he had the chance to escape for the Order was the only way to ensure that he couldn't tip the balance.

"You can't kill me now," said Draco. "What if I translated the parchment wrong?"

"Oh, I won't kill you until after Claire has checked over your work. I just wanted you to have time to dwell on your demise. This is what those who deny the Dark Lord have to expect. You will be an example to the rest."

"You can't kill me even after that."

The fingers tightened, the nails digging into his neck.

"Explain," said Voldemort.

"There are also additional instructions for the ritual written on the stone surrounding the Veil. Those are placements to where people need to stand, and where things should be placed. That isn't in the book, and so it's something that needs to be figured out right then in the Ministry. I've translated these runes, so I can read them, fluently. Claire could translate those runes, but it would take her a while, maybe a few days. You don't have that time. You need to get in the Ministry and out again as quickly as possible. So go ahead and kill me. The Aurors will just find you."

The Dark Lord's face warped through different emotions before settling on a grudging acceptance, but the hand around his neck tightened, cutting off his air.

"You shall live until I have retrieved my Horcrux. I will leave your body in the Ministry for your pathetic Order to find it, but when they do, they will not be able to recognize you without an identity charm. That is a promise I give to you."

Draco was released and the Dark Lord stepped back, watching as Draco crumpled to the ground.

"Well?" Voldemort demanded of Claire.

"The title is correct," she said. "The code, that the journals speak of, says 'The Descent/ Submersion an easy path. No doors bar the road, but Descend/Submerge only for Death. Life is not easily returned/retraced. The Road not by water, so diverged by men. A Mantle/Veil of water woven to mark the way. Descend/Submerge only for Death. Life may be saved, but only with a prayer, an offering, and the Payment of the Crossing.'"

"Payment of Crossing?" the Dark Lord asked.

"A coin," said Draco, pushing himself to a sitting position, leaning against the wall. He let his head drop back against the wall and closed his eyes. "The payment of crossing is the myth that upon death a soul must pay the boatman to be ferried across the river." He opened his eyes to look at the Dark Lord. "You need a coin to get your Horcrux back again. Look in the museum for coins during the reign of Quintus Flavius. That was when the myth was begun, and so that's the coin you need. Everything else is just in the chapter, and it's a pretty normal ritual."

The Dark Lord turned to Claire who nodded. "It checks out."

"Good. When I return, I will have the rest of the translation verified."

He left and two Death Eaters entered to drag Lorenzo Holiday's body out, and then the door was shut.

"The sofa looks comfortable," said Claire.

Draco looked up at her and she shrugged. "I can check the translation out myself and you aren't going to be any good at reading the runes in the Ministry if you don't get some sleep."

Draco nodded and pushed himself up. He hobbled over to the sofa along the back wall and collapsed. He was asleep within moments.

He was immediately awake when the door opened again, but he kept his eyes shut, being able to tell, from the state of absolute exhaustion he was in, that he had managed a two hour nap.

"Do you have it?" asked Claire.

"Yes. What of the rest of the translation?"

"He did it correctly, no hidden warnings or intentions of a booby trap."

Interesting choice of words, Draco thought, catching the stress on '_booby_ trap'.

"Why is he asleep?"

"I figured he needed to be capable of functioning once we break into the Ministry. We might not have a lot of time to do the ritual and so he needs to be able to translate quickly. Even the wakefulness-inducers weren't keeping him lucid for an hour."

There was silence and then the sound of footsteps heading towards him. He had to stop himself from tensing and then a hand was jerking him up and throwing him to the floor. He grunted when he hit, his eyes springing open but not focusing, as if he had just woken up. He tried to scramble backwards, but a foot was placed on his chest and then there was a presence in his mind.

He let the thoughts of the last few days filter through his mind, as if he was still trying to grasp hold of what exactly was going even as the presence tried delving deeper. Draco let one thought resonate through his head before he pulled up his shields. Claire in a blood red dress saying she wasn't just giving hints that she wanted the Dark Lord, but actual suggestions.

He pulled back, acting as if he was completely awake now, and although there was pressure on his mental shields, the Dark Lord could not get in. He stared at Voldemort, calming his breathing and reinforcing the walls.

The Dark Lord stared at him for a moment before turning around. He walked right out the door before stopping and turning slightly. His red eyes met Claire's and he jerked his head. She followed him out the door and Draco heard it lock. He pulled himself back up on the couch and lay down. Tonight was the night that could make or break the war. It was also the night when his fate was determined and if he had a choice, seventeen was too young to die.

It would be tonight, at the Veil, that if there was such thing as Fate, it would be made know. Draco was inclined to believe that every person was responsible for his/her own actions. Fate was nothing more than a scapegoat to be blamed when things went wrong, and a name to give to coincidence that could not be explained.

Still, it was a strange irony that it would all take place at the Veil, the supposed entrance to the world beyond where Fate made her home.

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Claire knew that some people would find lusting after a resurrected body deranged and revolting, but she was not merely lusting after the body. It was the Dark Lord's mind, his power, his lack of inhibitions that was so…well, no doubt Draco could name it. All she knew was that every time the red eyes turned her way, she felt a shiver of fear, pleasure, and longing run through her core.

The Dark Lord was more than a man; he was a god. He held life and death in his hands. If his morals were corrupt, if his cause unjust, who was to be the one to judge him? Who had power over this man who had believed so deeply in purity he had split his soul, divided his essence, and he was still so much more than the world could hold. If there was an authority to stop this god-man, than they would have to beat him, to destroy him, and who, in this island nation, or even in this world, was brave enough, strong enough, to stand against a god who held the devotion of an army. This was why his followers feared him; feared him and loved him.

To love a god was expected; to be loved by a god, or even noticed, was unexpected.

When Claire stepped out of the classroom she was ready to fall instep behind the one she had chosen to follow; she was not ready to find herself face-to-face with those red eyes that made her tremble, that made her knees grow weak and her breath catch.

The Dark Lord took one step forward, and then another, and then she was backed against the wall and the thin, bloodless lips that she had watched for so long were on hers. It was not gentle; she didn't want it to be.

And then, a few hours before night, Claire got up, knowing that she was favored by a god, and that kept her euphoric, even when, thinking back on the time they had spent alone together, the Dark Lord had only taken, and she had never received, and so she was left feeling drained and spent. But the knowledge that she had been accepted by a god, no, by Voldemort, was enough. The hex she had received was painful, but it had served its lesson. It was 'Voldemort', not 'Thomas'.

She wasn't to know that the last person to call her god 'Thomas' had been a little red-haired girl with hazel eyes, who had read a diary; read the diary, because, without reading the book in its entirety, the soul of Thomas Riddle would not have been released. A diary is intimate, and reading it gives certain liberties that not even the chosen followers can hope to obtain.

But she felt her heart swell with the knowledge that she was favored and so when she went to wake the white-blond boy that could have chosen to be a god himself, she went with a smile, and with the intention to wait as long as possible before waking the boy. She would let him sleep because he needed it. A god has the authority to bestow blessing on his followers; the favored of a god could do the same, as long as the god did not know.

Tonight her god would regain another part of his soul, and Fate was smiling down on them, she knew it must be. After all, the ritual was to take place on the very steps of Fate's doorway. Fate had signed her name to these blessings.

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Bill pulled his hair back into a braid, fastening the end tightly and then pulling out his earring. He knew that tonight could be messy, and he didn't want the fang catching and tearing straight through his earlobe.

He reached for the dragon leather jacket Charlie had given him, just for this occasion. The dragon hide was somewhat resistant to dark magic, and every little bit counted. He grabbed his wand and pocketed it. He stared at himself in the mirror and took a breath. He said a prayer, not for himself, but for a white-blond boy who was tempting fate at this very moment.

He left the bathroom and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. Fleur was there, sitting at the table with a cup of tea in front of her. Her hands were not around the mug, but around her round belly that held his child. She looked calm, but her hair was too perfectly swept back and her make-up was of a calming color scheme, pale blues and greens on her eyes, posy pink on her lips. She never wore this much make-up normally; she was one of those people that had to apply their brave face.

Charlie was sitting across from her, having been the one that made the tea.

Bill leaned down to give her a kiss which she returned, but without real passion. She instead wrapped his arms around her stomach and held his hands there.

"My child will not be born without a father. You will be careful, yes?"

"I promise," said Bill. "I'm not to be in the real fight. I'm just getting Draco out."

"Still, our son needs his father."

"And what if it's a girl?"

She smiled. "Our son or daughter needs a father. Come back to me."

"I promise," said Bill.

She kissed him this time, and Bill was loathed to pull away. When he did his brother was there to pull him into a hug.

"Get the kid, that's it," he said.

"That's it," Bill agreed. "Nothing more."

"You're a good man to do this."

"He's a good kid. He's already done this."

Charlie conceded the point with a smile. "Go get him then."

Bill nodded and threw Floo on the fireplace. "The Department of Mysteries."

He stepped through to the other side where Aurors were already gathering.

Kingsley greeted him with a firm handshake. "Do you want to see it?" he asked.

Bill nodded and was taken into a large room. As soon as they stepped inside the doors around them began spinning at a dizzying speed before finally slowing and stopping. Bill looked about at the doors in wonder.

"Which one is it?" he asked.

"That's our security precaution," said Kingsley. "It will respond to any authorized voice. Mors cella."

The door second to the left swung open and Bill stepped through. The room was circular, sloping downwards and lined with stone benches. There was a large clearing in the center, also in a circle. In the middle of it stood a stone arch. A tattered cloth hung from the stone and Bill swore it was flapping slightly even though the room was still.

"That's it?" he asked. For some reason, he had thought there would be…more.

"The Veil," said Kingsley.

Bill watched it, wondering what it would be like, just to step through, to stick an arm through. Would the Underworld claim that as well? Would he be able to pull it out, or would it be stuck? Would he be sucked through, into whatever world it was down there, crowded with displaced souls and ruled by Fate?

"Understated," said Kingsley. "That's what it is."

Bill could only nod his head in agreement. He followed Kingsley back out into the atrium. The Aurors were already hiding themselves behind invisibility cloaks or in other rooms. There were monitoring spheres set up, some right inside the Veil room so that the Aurors could always be aware of what was happening, ready to step in at a second's notice.

"You'll be in here with me," said Kingsley, opening the door to a small security office that had been transformed for this purpose. The windows from the outside showed that the office was closed after hours, but from the inside, they had a perfect view of the lobby.

Bill glanced at the clock. It was only seven. It was unlikely that Voldemort would come in at anytime before eleven, and probably not until after midnight. Still, he was tensed and his stomach was in knots.

It seemed fitting that such an operation would be taking place in the same room as the Veil, in the same room as the entrance to the Underworld, a realm ruled by the Fates. Bill wondered if Good really was to triumph over Evil like all of the fairytales told. If so, he had no doubt that tonight would be a success, just like the night a little over a year ago when they had managed to capture most of the Death Eaters, thought they had lost Sirius in the process.

Part of him wanted to believe in those fairytales again, but he was guarded. Fate was said to be just, and he had heard stories where Fate was cruel. If Fate existed, then he would say Fate was cruel to the white-blond boy that would becoming in later that night, and it was cruel to a certain black haired boy with a scar as well.

Perhaps, then, humans were really left to create their own fate, or was that destiny? Was there a difference?

Either way, tonight would show what sort of stuff Fate was made of.

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The liquor cabinet was open again, but this time the poison of choice was whiskey. Rich, strong, numbing.

Tonight his son might die, and he would watch it happen; he would not intervene.

Yes, Draco had chosen, and he had not chosen his family, or his heritage. That came with costs and consequences, and Lucius had never stood in the way before, and he wouldn't now. Still, the whiskey was poured into the glass as the clock struck nearer to nine.

The Death Eater army was amassing, waiting for tonight when their great leader would become even more powerful. Tonight would either clench the Death Eater victory or it would show that the Order did indeed have a chance.

Lucius was no fool. His son would not have stayed, would not have sent off the Portkey without him, had he not had some reason to stay. The escape attempt just proved that.

Had Draco really been left behind, and had he truly wanted to get out, he would have killed Claire in the cell, killed Claire and then transformed bodies. True, without Polyjuice the likeness would have been crude, but it would have been enough to throw the Death Eater guards off long enough to make it to where he could find an alternate means of escape.

The Dark Lord was many things. Overconfident was on the top of that list.

Then, of course, there was the fact that only one coin had been found in the museum. The sign read that the coins had been taken to Germany, and that they had been sent a week ago. That time marker proved to the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters that it was just coincidence, and so they had taken the one coin left without another thought. They only needed one, after all. Lucius had been the only one that had checked with the German museum. The display had arrived only yesterday and the delay had been attributed to a mistake in shipping.

Such a display of valuable coins would not have been casually, mistakenly shipped to the wrong address. Lucius knew because he used the same shipping company and he had yet to learn of a shipping error.

Was it mere coincidence then that the coins the Dark Lord needed were gone? Or that the German museum had received the coins only yesterday? Almost as if the coins had been shipped two days ago, and not a week like the sign read? Two days ago, the prisoners had escaped and one could have carried a message back to Dumbledore. Was it coincidence that his son was translating runes, and had given the Dark Lord the time frame when he would be done? To ensure that the Death Eaters were at the Ministry at a set time?

Lucius sipped the whiskey and stared at the fire. His heritage demanded that he inform the Dark Lord, that he be the one to cast the curse on his son that would end his life. Another part of him, the part that Lucius did not name because doing so would just affirm that fact that it was real, told him to let Draco go. To let him go and to then systematically murder every bastard that had dared to lay a hand on him. Lastly, he would kill the Dark Lord, slowly, by sticking a knife into very limb of his body and then burning the skin from his bones.

He would do neither. Fate and destiny had never collided more than they had this night. Destiny held that Lucius would forever be the right hand man of Voldemort and though Fate's game had yet to be revealed, Lucius was sure it had to do with his son living, to his son surviving.

Lukas had been born because Lucius had been taken with an older girl in Hogwarts, a girl that had gladly given birth to his first son, and Lukas had been a pleasing child, but the girl and her family had raised him. Lucius was content with Lukas, who was intelligent and charismatic, but Draco was his. Draco was _supposed_ to have been born, to be the heir, to carry on the Malfoy name. He had done much more than that. Lucius was not expecting to…care for his son, even more so than Lukas.

Had Draco been the one married to a Muggle woman, and had he been the one to be struck down by Lucius' mother, Lucius would have not only poisoned his mother, he would have sent her away, in disgrace. He would have struck her name from every account and locked her in with the Muggles. He would have then raised Draco's child as his own, Half-blood or not.

And this was Draco, not Lukas, that was no doubt planning an ambush tonight.

And so Lucius would not intervene. He would let Fate play her hand, a hand that was, no doubt, influenced greatly by Draco himself. Fate was swayed by human choice that was the difference between Fate and Destiny. Fate could be seen, the workings and hints and vague foreshadowing just before it struck. Destiny was suspected, was hypothesized, was believed in, but never concrete until the soul had moved on.

It was fitting that tonight they would be found at the altar of Fate.

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The red-haired girl glanced up when the clock struck out the first blow of twelve. Mid-night. She wondered if the attack was happening now as Tom loved the dramatic, no, _Thomas_ did. He thought of himself as Thomas; that was what he called himself in his inner thoughts, and she would know. She had been privy to those thoughts.

She glanced over at the still bed of her brother. Still in a coma.

She looked about the room at her family, sleeping in the chairs, or trying to. She was not. She had been reading, but now, she was keeping a vigil. Only a few people knew what was happening right now. She was one of them, if only because she had listened in on conversations and had bugged for the smallest of details until she put together the details.

She listened as the last chime faded out and then shifted, making herself comfortable in her chair. Bill would come back in the early hours of the morning, and he would be with Draco or he wouldn't. Those were the two outcomes.

She hoped for the former, prayed for the former.

Fate was out there, looking over it all; she knew it was.

People made choices, and people lived their own lives to their own beliefs, but there was something greater, something more. There had to be a greater power because no other explanation made sense. Why else were there flowers in the summer? Why was there snow in winter?

No person could claim responsibility for those, nor could any person claim responsibility for the first breath of life, nor could it be explained, but one thing could be known.

There was a struggle going on, a great struggle, night versus day, dark versus light, summer versus winter, Good versus Evil. It was displayed in earth, in sky, in man. Night and day warred for its time in the sky, always locked in a cycle of winning, only to lose again. For every lantern that is lit, a dark corner exists, and for every dark place made bright, a shadow is created. For every beautiful summer, there is a hard winter. For every act of love, an act of hate.

Ginny knew, without any doubt, that Fate was no cruel mistress, nor did Fate belong with the dark. She also knew that good would win in the end. She had her proof. There were the stars to beat the night, people made love in the dark, in the winter there was sledding and snowmen. More people were being born than were dying, and even in death, there was peace and hope.

So she prayed to Fate, because Fate was good, and Good would win in the end, just like light and day and summer had. It was that hope which had kept her alive when reading the dark and terrible thoughts of one Thomas Riddle; it was that belief that allowed her to accept the small bit of dark, that little bit of blackest ink, that had transferred onto her mind from the pages of the diary.

It made her feel better, knowing that the conflict would take place right at Fate's front door. She knew that Fate was not restricted by distance, or even by time, but the idea of Fate being physically present was reassuring. The Veil was Fate's home; She was there.

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There was one who could answer all those questions of Fate and of Destiny, and of human choice and the prevailing nature of Good or Evil, but he was not able to articulate it, nor could he even hear the questions. He was, after all, only with Fate, not Fate herself.

He was with others, and there was a real knowledge of self here, but no way to measure time, or even to know if time was passing, and so he might have been there an eternity or a day and he wouldn't know the difference.

Fate knew. She knew how long he had been there by the number of thoughts he had considered, by the number of breaths he had taken (had he needed to take them), and by what mortals call years and days. He had been there over a year. Almost a year and a half.

Once he left Fate's temple, he would not be able to tell those he knew of Fate, and of her existence (or lack of it), because it would be forgotten and it was for the best. Could there really be physical proof? Proof would mean truth, and not belief. Fate must be belief if it is anything at all.

It was time for him to leave, and he would be granted re-entry into the real world because of a certain white-blond boy who was currently in the process of being woken up so that he could travel here, to get the soul out. There was no question that he would succeed; the question that the mortals would ask was 'why?' Was it a predetermined course, or did each and every single choice he, and those around him, had made lead him to this one Veil on this one night?

And so objects are sent in motion, on paths that could be predetermined if one believes Fate has deemed it so, or on paths that have been directed by the individual. Can they only be seen after they have occurred, or were they set in stone from the beginning of earth? Is every choice possible and Fate merely a reassuring idea, or does the reassurance come from a source other than human thought and creation?

Either way, the events of tonight are happening right at the Veil, at the point of belief or disbelief, at an altar or at an arch. It is fitting.

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By the way, 'mors cella' is literally 'death room' in crude Latin.

Another note, I put up a one-shot dedicated to my reviewer Sakuya who's birthday I missed. As requested, it's a Draco and Harry one-shot, but not slash, just the obligatory 'suicidal-feeling Harry' one-shot that all HP writers have to write at some point in their careers. Check it out, and let me know what you think.

Review if you're excited for the next chapter.


	22. The Ritual and Rescue

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter, but I do own over **one** **thousand** reviews. Amazing. I'm shocked and pleased and feeling very loved. THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!

**R2D2**: I'm glad you like my Lucius. It's fun to write him.  
**Natalie**: Thanks!  
**Silke****knuts**: Dank u. I hope that's right. Is that thank you in Dutch? I find people who speak more than one language, like you, to be amazing. And you're only thirteen? That's incredible. Thanks for the review!  
**Jessica****Tan**: Thank you very much! And I'm glad you like how I portray Lucius because I definitely thought there is more to him than just a bad, snobbish aristocrat.  
**Anna**: Well, I could tell you about Ron, but then it wouldn't be a surprise…lol. Thanks!  
**Spyrit**: I'm glad you liked the fate bit. It's funny, some people were like 'meh, didn't really work for me' and some people were like 'omg! I love it', so it was cool to see those responses. Personally, I think those people who liked it are more philosophically minded. And I'm glad you like sneaky Ginny too, I think it makes her much more interesting. As for seeing Draco drunk, well…ugh, I can't tell you, because then I would ruin the ending. But just wait! Thanks again!  
**Lilith**: I'm sorry you were scared by Claire/Voldemort, but I was exploring the different areas of her psyche. She wants to be special, to be chosen, and who better to give it to her than a 'god'? It also explains why she is with the DE's in the first place and, as Spyrit suggested, she probably was lacking a strong male presence in her life. And on another note, you know Bill and Fleur are perfect together, you know it! Ha. I brainwashed you (grins and bows). Thanks!  
**Shelimar**: Well, Lucius does love power and blood purity, and even though he loves Draco too, he doesn't really love him more. As for helping him, well, read the chapter, cuz you're sorta right. Thanks!  
**Sanjs**: Well, while Lucius' not doing anything is in essence doing something, in his mind, by staying out of it, he's just going to let things run their course (i.e. let Fate run its course) and this way he feels as if he hasn't betrayed his beliefs or his family, so it excuses him in a sense. Of course, you are right, everything is cause and effect, but there must be some higher power, some 'first being' that set about the change in the first place. That's what this is discussing. Thanks so much for your review.  
**Scorpioverde**: It got better? Yay! That's what every author wants to hear. Thanks so much!  
**Mask**: I'm not really comparing faith and belief, although I may have used them as synonyms. If that is the case, than I altered their definitions to compare Fate and Destiny, which are closely related, but subtle diff. And I can change defs, because philosophers do it all the time.  
**Lauren**: Hey, thanks for reviewing, and yes, it was a filler, though it really does provide some insight to different characters. Thanks again!

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A soft hand on his shoulder caused him to start awake and he opened his eyes to see Claire staring down at him looking quite pleased.

Draco groaned and sat up. "I take it he finally got the hint, then?"

"What did you tell him?"

"What?"

"After he read your mind he finally realized what I was after. What did you tell him?"

Draco shrugged. "Just let him see our conversation. I hope it wasn't disappointing?"

"That leads me to another question. Why did you do that?"

Draco smirked. "Marius Apollo."

"The Italian wizarding dictator in the thirteen hundreds. What does he have to do with it?"

"He was notorious for his severe punishments and was accountable for the destruction of entire villages because of one citizen's disobedience. What history class hasn't told you is that he was married later in his life, to a renowned prostitute in fact, and his harsh punishments were curtailed."

"You aren't seriously hoping that I curtail the Dark Lord, are you?"

Draco shrugged again. "At this point, it can't hurt to try. What time is it?"

"A little after twelve."

"Brilliant," said Draco, and then he yawned. Claire handed him a wakefulness-inducer which he gratefully gulped down.

The door was shoved open and then the Dark Lord was in the room, glaring at Claire who was kneeling beside Draco. Claire got up and went to stand by his side and then two Death Eaters had entered as well and grabbed Draco.

He was shoved to his knees in front of the Dark Lord and his arms jerked behind his back. Cold metal clamped around his wrists, one hand fastened under the other, and then he was hauled to his feet.

"It is time," said the Dark Lord.

Draco wondered, briefly, if the madman could be any more melodramatic, and then large hands grasped his upper arms in bruising grips and he was propelled forward. His right leg gave way when he put his weight on his ankle, which he was beginning to think was not broken with a simple hairline fracture, but the Death Eaters hardly noticed that he wasn't supporting his weight anymore and simply continued dragging him.

The other Death Eaters were amassed at the large fireplace, but Draco could tell from their numbers that only the inner circle and the Death Eaters that served as the Dark Lord's constant guard, the ones who made their homes wherever the Dark Lord went, were gathered there. None of the 'regular' Death Eaters were present, well besides Crabbe and Goyle seniors, who were holding Draco, and that meant that Snape was not among the army. Draco could have used his help. Draco concentrated on the weight of the knife in his pocket and fervently hoped that the Weasel had managed to tell Bill about the plan, or else there were a lot of unsolved problems he wouldn't get the chance to solve, at least, not in this life.

The fire was already burning in the grate and upon the Dark Lord's arrival the Death Eaters threw on Floo and started stepping through. There were twenty five in total and Draco could pick out the figure of Lucius Malfoy among them.

Then he was shoved forward with his two guards and appeared in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The floor was a new, as the old one had been badly damaged during the skirmish almost a year and a half ago between the Death Eaters and Potter's defense club. The fountain was also replaced, but it was identical to the original.

They passed through the atrium quickly, a guard of Death Eaters sweeping the room, but the Dark Lord didn't even pause, Claire at his side and Draco being propelled along behind them. Draco glanced around, trying to catch sight of a clue that would indicate that the Aurors were present, but he could see none and so he merely concentrated on keeping track of all the Death Eaters and any possible escape route.

The group of black-robed wizards made it to a room surrounded by doors, and as soon as the entire party had arrived, minus a few who would stand guard in the lobby, the walls began spinning, becoming no more than a blur before slowing and falling still once again.

"Find it," the Dark Lord commanded, and the Death Eaters each pulled open one of the doors.

"In here, milord," said one, gesturing to a door on the right.

Draco was prodded forward again, into a circular room holding stone benches on steps, leading down to a clearing where a stone arch stood, a tattered curtain hanging from the curve. It was blowing in an invisible wind.

The Death Eater guards dragged him down to the arch while the doors were warded shut behind them. Voldemort was circling the arch, his red eyes sweeping over the fragile-looking doorway.

"Don't trip," said Draco. "Would be a tragedy if you fell through."

Again, talking-back to the Dark Lord was not a smart idea. Draco blamed it on his lack of sleep, and also the realization that he could, very easily, die here.

The Dark Lord crossed over to him, grabbing hold of his neck and forcing him forwards before throwing him at the foot of the arch.

"Before this night is over," he hissed, "I will send you to the afterlife. But it will not be as easy as stepping through a curtain. You will beg, and plead, and scream for death before it finds you, and while you yell, I will tear out every thought you have in your head, every idea, every ability you possess, I will know of it, and I will use them to personally hunt down and destroy anyone you looked upon as a friend. I want you to know that, _Dragon_." The English form of his name was said in a mocking voice, but the words were chilling.

Draco clenched his jaw, his only thought at that moment was not to convey the very real fear he felt at the Dark Lord's threat. Voldemort, apparently, wanted to see that fear because he grasped Draco's head, turning it to his, red eyes boring into his skull.

Draco smirked.

The Dark Lord did more than glare, his red eyes seemed to spark, and then he hauled Draco up again.

"Direct the ritual," he said. "Know that it was you who is responsible for giving me twice the power I now possess."

He released Draco and stepped back, waving his wand and the manacles that were around his arms fell to the ground. Draco resisted the urge to rub his wrists and merely straightened his clothes, brushing off the dust, as if unaffected by the threats.

He walked around the Veil, studying the stone work, noticing the hieroglyphics that had been etched into the surface, but were now worn away. Of course his walking consisted of staggered steps and long pauses on his good foot, but he finally made it around. Now that he was beside the Veil, and now that most of the Death Eaters had fallen silent, he swore there were whispering voices coming from the Veil. He wondered if the voices were those who had never made it across the river, or if he could only hear the voices of the people that he knew who had passed on. He shook the notion off and checked the stone floor, brushing away the dust that had cumulated on the floor, uncovering a few other glyphs.

"This is the front," he said. "The candles go here, right by the arch, in the half-circle like in the translation, but with a path leading to the Veil. "The water will be poured just a little ways behind the two rows of candles, but only when I say so, got that?"

The Death Eaters nodded and Draco turned to Voldemort.

"Well?" he asked.

The Dark Lord joined him standing in front of the Veil, but back from the curtain, the candles placed between them and then arch. The Death Eaters formed a complete half-circle behind them, white masks turned up to the Veil.

Draco took a breath, steeling himself before nodding.

"Give me the coin," he said.

The Dark Lord handed him the ancient coin and Draco walked forward and then flicked the coin through the Veil. It didn't fall through to the floor on the other side but disappeared somewhere halfway in between.

"Light the candles," Draco said, returning to his position beside the Dark Lord.

Voldemort waved his wand and the flames shot up on the candles' wicks. No sooner had the small fires flickered to life, the Veil fluttered in a wind that was, all of a sudden, very real. The wind was cool, and clammy, and smelling faintly like the ocean, but there was a stench on the wind that spoke of decay. Draco could hear the whispers of the Death Eaters behind him, but he paid them no mind. He clenched his good hand, in an attempt to focus all of his anxiety on that one area, and spoke aloud.

"Ater novo lux. Frigus novo ferveo."

The chant was taken up by the Death Eaters behind him, and the wind increased, whipping around the room and whistling under the stone benches until the Death Eaters were screaming the chant to be heard above the wind.

Draco stared at the Veil, squinting his eyes because the wind was harsh and, unlike the others in the room, his eyes could not tear up to offer protection. There was one final gust that sent Draco back a step and caused a few Death Eaters to stumble, and then the flames on the candles shot into the air, over their heads and burning blue before the flames were extinguished and the smell of smoke overrode the odor of the wind.

"Now the water," said Draco.

Two Death Eaters stepped up, holding large silver pitchers in their hands. They poured out the water in a stream behind the candles, once again stopping from completing the half circle so there was a clear path from Draco and the Dark Lord to the Veil. They stepped back into place.

"Humus novo agua," said Draco. "Sitis novo repleo."

Again the Death Eaters took up the chant, and once again, the wind returned. This time the wind stirred up a small microburst that followed the line of water, sucking it up until the stone was dry and then the room fell silent.

"Now the blood," said Draco. "It has to be fresh."

"And you did say anyone's blood would do," said Voldemort.

"Yes," said Draco. He would have liked to say that the blood had to be Voldemort's, if only for the satisfaction of causing the Dark Lord some degree of discomfort, but Claire was smart, and she had looked over his translations, so he couldn't.

The Dark Lord nodded, and then a Death Eater had stepped forward, grasping him around his torso, pinning his right arm to his side, and stretching his left arm out. Another Death Eaters held a silver goblet underneath Draco's hand and handed the Dark Lord a knife. The glint in the red eyes told Draco just how much Voldemort was enjoying this, and Draco clenched his jaw. The blade slashed across his palm; Draco winced.

The cut was deep and blood poured forth, dark red spilling down his palm into the cup. It only took a few moments to fill, and then the Death Eaters let him go. Draco clenched his hand, trying to stop the flow of blood as best he could and the Dark Lord handed him the cup filled with his blood with an ironic, vindictive smile on his face.

"Call forth my soul, Draco."

Draco took one last look around, hoping he could see the red of the Auror's robes, or a glint of red hair, but the only color in the room was his battered green jacket and the cup full of his crimson blood. It contrasted greatly with the grey stone, the grey Veil, the black and white of the Death Eaters uniform. Now that he thought of it, Voldemort's eyes were red as well. The same color as the blood dripping down his hand and in the cup.

He jerked the goblet forward, splashing his blood onto the cleared path in front of the Veil.

"Sanguis novo viscus. Mortis novo vita."

The chanting echo was once again repeated, filling the room with the Latin words. The wind started, and then the candles burst back into flame and water began welling from the stone. The ground trembled and a white light shot from the Veil, and it was as if the light was an actual force because Draco was still chanting the words, and so were the Death Eaters behind him, but he was frozen in place, incapable of even leaning forward.

The wind and the water and the flame died out, and the ground no longer shook, but the light only gained in intensity. It radiated from the Veil, and it was bright, and it hurt to look at it, but Draco couldn't turn away. Behind him the chant died out and Draco was left whispering the last words.

"Novo spiritus Sirius Black."

There was a flash, accompanied by a crash of thunder that made Draco's heart jump and then a form was rolling out of the Veil.

It was a man with wild black hair and as naked as the day he was born. The figure tumbled to a rest, knocking over a few of the candles, and then the white light was slowly fading.

Draco forced himself to move, even though the motion was slow, as if he was underwater, pushing against constraints. He made it to the man's side and knelt down, reaching out and finding a pulse on the man's neck. The man was alive. Draco jerked back in shock when suddenly a hand was clenched around his wrist and Draco stared into the dark grey eyes of Sirius Black, who looked about just as startled as he did.

Then Dark Lord was there, forcing his way over as the light continued to die out. He hauled Sirius up, his gaze sweeping over him before tossing him to the side. He whirled on Draco who suddenly realized, now that the noise of the ritual had died out, and now that he had become accustomed to the silence, there was a faint thumping on the door to the Veil room.

"Where is it!" the Dark Lord demanded in a shriek of rage. He fisted his hand in Draco's shirt and pulled him close. "He doesn't have my Horcrux!"

The thumping grew louder, but the Death Eaters were too busy watching their master than they were listening for intruders. Draco smirked.

"Of course he doesn't have it," he said. "Did you really think I would give it to you?"

The backhand was powerful, snapping Draco's head to the side, and then he was flung backwards, into the waiting hands of two henchmen.

"And," said Draco, spitting blood out from his mouth, "you actually thought that I didn't have an escape plan, when in fact, you are about to find yourself surrounded by every Auror in London!"

The Dark Lord whirled to look up at the door that was in the process of being forced open and he growled, turning back to Draco.

"They will not be in time to rescue you," he said. "Goyle, the Portkey!"

Shit, they had a Portkey?

Draco knew that Apparition was impossible in the Ministry, to prevent attacks, but a well-constructed Portkey could break them out. He spun to right, jerking away from the two Death Eaters and pulled out the knife from his pocket. Immediately the dagger extended to its original length, and Draco ripped the sheath off. Goyle reached for him again, the Portkey in his hand, and Draco lashed out.

The knife was sharp, too sharp for an ordinary blade which meant it must be magically enhanced, and then Goyle dropped to the floor, his hand falling separately away from his body before disappearing as the Portkey took hold of it. The Death Eater screamed in pain, his voice echoed by the battle cry of the Aurors who managed to break open the door and come pouring through.

"You!" Voldemort seethed, rounding on Draco. He raised his wand and Draco stumbled back, trying to run. His ankle gave way and he dropped to the floor and so the curse Voldemort leveled at him soared past him. Draco stared as the evil green light flew over him.

The Avada hit the wall, blasting through the stone where there was another room. Draco scrambled to his feet, running again as Voldemort screamed in rage, and as curses flew around him. He pulled himself over the pile of debris in front of the gaping hole in the wall and pitched into a room filled with shelves upon shelves of crystal balls. He was in the Hall of Prophecy.

He stared for just a moment, that was all he needed to take the incredible sight in, and then he was stumbling for the far door. He could still hear the battle in the room next to him, and then louder voices, people stepping over the same pile of stone he had climbed over to escape.

He ducked behind a shelf, as hidden as he could be behind a wall of crystal spheres, watching as three Death Eaters made it into the relative safety of the room. The trio pulled off their masks and Draco froze when the face of his father appeared.

"Well, that didn't go as planned," said Lucius mildly. "I believe now is the time for our exit."

"I blame that boy of yours," said Rodolphus LeStrange bitterly, spitefully.

Lucius only looked amused. "Of course you do, and you would be correct to do so." He looked over as a particularly loud crash called his attention, and then returned his gaze to LeStrange and the other Death Eater, but in doing so, his gaze slid past Draco's half-hidden form.

Draco stared back, but the grey eyes did not linger on him, or even flicker in recognition. Had his father not seen him?

Lucius held out a key and the two laid a finger on it. Their forms began to blur and then Lucius looked straight at Draco, grey eyes cold and unreadable, but the gaze was not hard, merely a stare.

The three Death Eaters disappeared and then a curse ricocheted into the room, smashing into a shelf of glass and exploding. Draco turned and threw himself to the ground as glass shards whirled past him, some hitting his jacket and being deflected by the thick olive khaki, but some grazing the back of his neck and head.

Draco hit the floor with a jolt that reminded him that he did have cracked ribs not four days ago and they really hadn't healed, and then he was covering his head with his hands as the explosion died out.

He was on his feet, or foot, again in an instant, running for the door, but then it was flung open. Draco pulled up short, gripping his knife tighter before registering the red-hair and concerned hazel eyes. He could have laughed with relief right then.

The quick breath that left him right then may have been a short laugh, but then he was starting towards Bill, feeling that it was finally over. Bill met him halfway, running to him when he realized that Draco wasn't exactly capable of walking on his own.

Draco was not prepared for Bill to pull him into a tight hug, as if he was a brother that Bill thought was dead, but that did not mean that Draco didn't like it. He might have even returned it, although he chalked it up to exhaustion and a need for support than admitting he was glad that the Aurors had come and that Bill had come along for him.

He was then aware that Bill was berating him, even as he hugged him, and Draco snorted, pulling away from his former professor with a smirk that was more of a grimace. Bill looked somewhat chastised.

"Let's got you out of here," he said.

Draco sheathed the knife he held and then pocketed it as Bill pulled his right, uninjured arm over his shoulders and put his own arm across Draco's back. Draco leaned on Bill a little more than he would have liked, but he was tired, and hurt, and wanted to do nothing more than fall asleep for a good twelve hours. Maybe even more.

They made it to the entrance room, where the door to the atrium was propped open and Aurors standing guard at the doorway, preventing any Death Eaters from leaving. They were immediately escorting Draco and Bill through the room, blocking them from any stray spells, and then they were in the lobby and there were medi-witches taking Draco over to the side where a few injured Aurors were being examined as well.

"Can you tell me your name?" the Healer asked, already running a diagnostic spell.

"Draco Malfoy."

"Your age?"

"Seventeen."

"And can you tell me exactly what happened?"

Draco blinked and looked up at her, disbelief written on his face. He was sure he would have burst into laughter had not the room just then been over-run with Aurors returning from the Veil room with Death Eater prisoners, or helping wounded comrades. They had apparently won the fight and then Draco and Bill were joined by Kingsley Shacklebolt who gave Draco a nod.

"I trust you are well," he said, not really making it a question.

"I'm fine," Draco nodded, before catching himself with a grimace.

Bill snorted. "Fine? You look like hell."

Draco shrugged, then winced as the simple motion caused an ache throughout his body. "I'm still alive," he said.

"Let me be the judge of that," said the Healer, frowning as the spell ran over Draco's body. "I want to get you to St. Mungo's for a full exam."

"Hogwarts would be better," said Bill. "Safer."

The Healer nodded. "That would work as well. Here, take these and then you should go straight there."

Draco took the potions, a pain-reliever and a blood replenisher and then the Healer took his left hand to look at the cut on it, but the motion jarred the burn on his arm and Draco hissed, feeling sick at the pain. He had felt an infection set in during the past few days, but he couldn't do anything about it.

"What is it?" asked Bill.

Draco shook his head. "I'm fine," he said, but that just made the Healer push back his sleeve. Draco had to clench his teeth to not yell at the fire that motion caused and then Bill and Kingsley were recoiling at the wound, and even the Healer looked a little ill.

"Shit, Draco," said Bill. "Just…_shit_."

"Take him straight to Hogwarts," said the Healer. "Get that looked at. I can't even begin to treat that, not here."

Bill nodded, and then helped Draco to his feet.

"We'll have to Floo to Hogsmeade and take the carriages up because the Floo isn't running at Hogwarts yet. Think you can make it?"

"Yeah," said Draco, voice hitching as he put his right foot down too hard. "I'll be fine."

"You use that word too much," said Bill. "I think you've forgotten its original meaning."

Bill threw Floo on the fire, calling out the Hogsmeade-Hogwarts exit and then helped Draco through. They appeared at the train station where the Hogwarts express stopped and there was a line of carriages waiting for visitors even though it was the middle of the night.

The thestrals turned when Draco pulled himself in, collapsing more than sitting on the cushioned seat. No doubt they could smell his blood. Bill sat across from him and the carriage lurched forward and then began rolling at a steady pace. Draco caught Bill looking him over and he gave a tired smirk.

"Don't look so worried. You'll give yourself grey hair."

"Didn't you say that would be an improvement?"

"Point," said Draco.

He was suddenly completely drained, feeling the tension, fear, and pressure of the past four days, no, of the past two weeks, finally slip off of him. He found it was finally easy to draw a breath, and his mind could finally wander, but that also meant the adrenaline was no longer keeping him conscious. He fought back the urge to close his eyes.

"You looked surprised to see me," said Bill, calling his attention and Draco gratefully focused his mind on Bill's voice, fighting to stay awake.

"I didn't know if you were coming," he said. "Claire said something about your brother being hurt."

Bill nodded, looking grave. "He isn't waking up," he said, "but he gave me your message."

"S'pose I'll have to thank him," said Draco, and then he frowned. He was slurring his words again.

He shook his head as his mind went into a spiral, trying to clear it. Snippets of the past four days flashed into his vision, Claire and her dresses, Holiday being hit by the curse, the fight at the Veil, the green killing curse sailing over his head when it should have hit. His broken ankle had saved his life.

He laughed, but not in amusement. He had a feeling that this was one of those times people talked about where you could either laugh or cry, and he was unable to do the latter.

"Draco, you alright?"

Bill sounded concerned and Draco nodded, halting his laughter and pulling his expression into something a little saner.

"I'm fine," he said, but then he realized that he wasn't. His skin all of a sudden felt clammy and he had to gasp to pull in a breath. His mind was light-headed but clear all at the same time, and then he was detaching from reality.

The carriage jolted and he slipped forwards, but then Bill caught him, and Draco could see his mouth moving but his voice was muted and distorted.

"Going into shock," said Draco, and then he laughed again. After all of this, and he was going into shock _now_? He tried to push away the dark, but he had nothing to brace himself again. Bill was talking again, his expression intent, urgent, anxious.

From far away Draco felt hands pulling him up, keeping him from slipping as the carriage jerked again, seeming to accelerate, though Draco didn't know why. His gaze drifted and dimmed, finally fading into black, and then the noises stopped, and the pain stopped, and Draco slipped into unconsciousness.

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Bill wondered if Draco knew just how badly beat up he looked. His hair was snarled but matted over his temple on one side, and the unusual white-blond strands were colored rust from dried blood. There were a few faded bruises on his face, one on his cheek, another under his eye, and his lip was split rather badly and just beginning to scab over. His hand was still bleeding from a cut, and his arm –

Bill didn't even want to think about the wound. It looked as if someone, most likely Voldemort, had stuck a hot poker straight through his arm. The wound was scabbed over with dried blood, burned, dead skin, and swollen flesh, that caused almost his entire lower arm to be discolored and distorted, but Bill did not doubt that at one time it would have been possible to look straight through Draco's arm. The idea was sickening and he spoke up to distract himself.

"You looked surprised to see me."

Draco blinked up at him, obviously being pulled from his thoughts, and the expression in his grey eyes, which were just barely guarded, was complete weariness. The kid was exhausted.

"I didn't know if you were coming. Claire said something about your brother being hurt."

Bill nodded, feeling that familiar tightness in his chest when he thought of his youngest brother. "He isn't waking up, but he gave me your message."

"S'pose I'll have to thank him," said Draco, and then he frowned, as if thinking about something that caused him some consternation. Bill frowned too. Draco wasn't one to slur words.

He watched as Draco shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts, but the blond obviously didn't succeed because he was still frowning, his eyes focused on something that was not in the carriage, something that was only in his mind.

Bill was worried and he started to speak out, but then Draco laughed, a cold, mirthless, hallow type of chuckle that caused fear to settle in Bill's chest.

"Draco, you alright?"

His voice sounded afraid and he could see Draco trying to pull himself together for his sake. That wasn't what Bill wanted; he wanted Draco to tell him what was wrong, to let Bill know what had happened so he could help.

"I'm fine," said Draco, and Bill was getting sick of that word.

He was about to tell Draco that, but then Draco's face paled as he tried to hitch in a breath. His complexion went from vampire to sheet white, making the bruises that much more pronounced and when the carriage hit a bump, Draco slipped forward, not able to catch himself.

Bill leaned forward, grabbing the boy around the shoulders to stop him from toppling over, and then knelt on the floor, trying to look into the grey eyes, to get Draco to focus.

"Draco, look at me, look at me. What's wrong? What happened, Draco?"

Draco looked as if he didn't understand what he was saying, but his words answered his question anyway.

"Going into shock," said Draco, voice breathy, and then he laughed again.

The grey eyes rolled back in his head and Bill shook Draco slightly.

"Draco, don't fall asleep, you have to stay awake. Stay with me, alright Draco?"

He could see the boy fighting to remain conscious and Bill turned in the direction of the thestrals. "You need to go faster!" he yelled, and even though he doubted the magical horses had heard him, they seemed to sense the urgency.

The carriage jolted again as the thestrals accelerated, and once again Draco nearly slipped out of his seat. Bill tightened his hold, and then sat next to Draco, the kid half in his lap as the grey eyes slowly slipped shut.

"No, dammit Draco. Stay awake!"

Draco's body went slack and Bill lightly slapped Draco's cheek, trying to get him to wake up. One brother in a coma was already too much.

He placed his fingers on Draco's neck, feeling for a pulse. It was there, but weak and Draco's breathing was still strained and uneven. Bill held Draco tighter as the carriage rounded the last bend.

"You trying falling into a coma, and I swear, I will publish the book on the Persian Runes myself," he threatened the white-blond. "I won't even mention you in the dedication."

They pulled up to the castle and Bill easily lifted Draco, one arm under the kid's knees, another supporting his shoulders. Draco was light, he had always been on the thin side, but Bill was pretty sure, with how skinny Draco was now, that he hadn't eaten since he had been captured.

He clamored out of the carriage and then started to run, up the steps and into the school. The halls were empty as it was two in the morning, and the last of the students had cleared out two days ago. The Weasley family, Harry, Hermione, and the professors were the only ones who had stayed.

He reached the infirmary and kicked open the door. Most of his family was up, as they had known that Bill was to be attending the ambush and so had waited for him. They didn't know the full story to why Bill had accompanied the Aurors, but Bill was hoping he would be able to level with them soon.

"Where's Pomfrey?" he demanded, before their expressions could even register surprise at the fact that Bill was holding the son of Lucius Malfoy in his arms.

"In her office," said his mother. "Why-?"

But then Madame Pomfrey was there in full medi-witch mode.

"Sweet Merlin, get him over here now."

Bill set the blond down on the bed she indicated, but Draco didn't even stir at the motion, his skin taking on a grey tinge. Bill swallowed hard, watching as Pomfrey stared a diagnostic spell, and then the medi-witch turned to him.

"Go to the top cupboard and get me the bright orange potion. Now."

Bill hurried to obey, knowing that the potion requested was one that would drastically raise the heart beat and was only used in the most severe of cases. His heart clenched as he ran back, uncorking the bottle and handing it to the nurse. She measured out a capful.

"Raise his head," she instructed.

Bill pulled Draco half-up, tipping his head back and prying open his mouth. Pomfrey poured the potion in his mouth, but he didn't even stir so she shut his lips and covered his nose so he couldn't take a breath. Instinct won over and Draco swallowed and Pomfrey let him breathe again. By this time his complexion was almost blue.

The potion worked almost immediately and Draco choked suddenly, gasping in a breath and his eyes springing open. Bill could see the color returning to his face as he panted, but then Pomfrey was forcing another potion down his throat, and the grey eyes slipped shut again. Bill gently lay Draco back down, and then Pomfrey was gesturing to the curtains around the bed.

"Pull the curtains, please," she said, and Bill did so, ignoring the confused but curious expressions of his family.

Bill turned back around to see Pomfrey waving her wand, and then Draco was in the infamous, blue and white striped infirmary pajamas, his dirty and blood-stained clothes folded neatly on the bedside chair.

"How is he?" asked Bill.

"He should be fine now, if I can get the infection in his arm under control."

"But you just used the blood pressure potion."

"Because he was suffering a classic case of shock made worse by an overdose of anti-sleep medications over the past few days and no substantial nourishment. When the adrenaline faded, nothing in his body was there to keep him conscious and so began to shut down from exhaustion. The potion was to jog his systems back into functioning. He's asleep now, and I'll be monitoring him to make sure it doesn't happen again, but it shouldn't. He's young and children always recover quickly."

"What else is wrong with him?"

"He has a mild concussion," said Pomfrey, pulling his head up so she could feel the back of his skull. "He has a few bumps, but the swelling is mostly gone." She let him lay back down and then cast a spell to clean off the blood on his face and hair. She jotted something down on her clipboard.

"He also cracked two ribs, bruised a few more, but they should heal fine. His ankle is another matter. I'll have to break it again because it's set slightly off. He has a sizeable cut on his left hand, which shouldn't be a problem, but his left arm might prove more difficult. Right now though, I would say he is a very lucky boy."

"When will you know for sure?"

"After I manage to bandage everything up. See if you can find Dumbledore, and let him know that Draco's back. I'll have more news then."

Bill nodded and stepped through the privacy curtains. He just knew that his parents were dying to know what was going on, but he ignored them for now. He just hoped they wouldn't be too upset when they found out exactly how much he had been keeping from them.

Dumbledore was actually on his way to the infirmary with Kingsley Shacklebolt who had just returned as well and was informing the Headmaster of what had happened. Kingsley paused in his narrative when Bill approached.

"How is he?" asked the Auror.

"Passed out on the way here," said Bill. "He said he was going into shock, and he's with Pomfrey now."

"He's been through a lot in the past few days," said Dumbledore, "no doubt it all finally caught up with him."

"How did the ambush go?" asked Bill, turning to Kingsley. The Aurors had made sure to keep him out of the conflict, and he wanted to know exactly how Draco's gamble had paid off.

"I was just telling Dumbledore. We have quite a few injuries but no fatalities, on either side. There were a few serious wounds, the worst of which being Mister Goyle who had his arm cut off."

"What?" asked Bill.

"Apparently they were trying to get Draco away at the last moment with a Portkey, but Draco got hold of a knife, a magical one by the looks of it because it sliced clean through Goyle's arm, and then the Portkey he was holding whisked the limb away."

Bill must have looked horrified because Kingsley laughed.

"He was so terrified that the loss would be permanent that he told the Aurors where the Portkey had gone so that we could retrieve his arm and re-attach it. He's at the hospital now and he'll make a full recovery and because of his openness, we caught three more Death Eaters and have closed down another base of operations for Voldemort."

"How many Death Eaters do you have total?" asked Bill.

"Sixteen, plus the three, so nineteen total."

"Nineteen?" asked Bill, his incredulity obvious.

Dumbledore smiled. "Quite impressive, don't you think."

"To say the least," said Bill, still trying to wrap his mind around what an obvious victory it had been. It even beat out the last success at the Veil which had been nothing to laugh at either.

"That's not the best part," said Kingsley. "We had a bit of trouble getting past the wards on the Veil room, which at first, seemed like it might jeopardize the entire ambush. Because of that, Draco completed the ritual, only instead of pulling out the Horcrux, Draco pulled out Sirius Black instead."

"What?" said Bill. "Is he alive? Is he even…sane?"

"He's at St. Mungo's now, but he's lucid and asking about Harry."

"Wait, should he really be at St. Mungo's? I mean, he hasn't been cleared of murder," said Bill.

Kingsley smiled. "One of the Death Eaters we caught is none other than Wormtail, otherwise known as Peter Pettigrew."

"No," said Bill, absolutely astounded.

"He will be standing trial for framing Sirius for his death, as well as a number of other countless charges."

Bill shook his head. "That is…wow," he laughed.

"So, the genius that planned it all," said Kingsley. "Is he going to be alright?"

"I think so," said Bill.

"Let's go check on him now," said Dumbledore, "and then I'll give the news to Harry first."

Bill felt a lurch of happiness for Harry. He would finally have his family back, his real family.

By the time the three made it back up to the infirmary, Pomfrey was just leaving the privacy curtains, behind which Draco lay.

"How is he?" he asked.

Pomfrey drew them a bit away from the crowd around Ron's bed so that she could speak openly.

"He should be recovered in a few days. He's mostly just banged up, and he has a broken ankle that had to be reset, but what's worrying me most is his left arm. He has a burn straight through it."

"Through his arm?" asked Dumbledore.

"Like a hot poker," said Bill, nodding as he had seen the injury.

Pomfrey shook her head. "His arm was impaled first, and then the wound was seared."

"Shit," said Kingsley, looking as disgusted as Bill felt

"Where on his arm is it?" asked Dumbledore.

"His left forearm," said Pomfrey. "Right in the middle."

Dumbledore nodded, as if understanding something.

"What?" asked Bill.

"The Death Eaters receive their mark on their left forearm. Draco refused."

"So Voldemort decides to stick a knife through his arm and then burn it?" asked Bill, completely outraged.

"Unfortunately," said Dumbledore, "yes."

"The injury isn't threatening, or even debilitating," said Pomfrey. "He'll have full use of his arm and hand, but he will have a nasty scar, and no extent of magical cosmetics is going to change that."

All three glanced at the curtain enclosed bed where Draco lay. Bill didn't think that Draco was particularly vain, but the idea of being marked, even with a scar, by Voldemort was no doubt upsetting to anyone. He wondered what Draco thought of it.

"When will he wake up?" asked Bill.

"Not for twelve hours at least, and if he does, I'll probably just give him a sleeping draught. His body is taxed. I don't think he's been asleep for over three days, and his body shows evidence of ingesting an unsafe amount of sleep suppressants. He also hasn't eaten for days, and that, added to what he's been through, means that he should sleep for long while to recover his strength."

"Let me know when he wakes up," said Dumbledore.

"Same here," said Kingsley. "I'll need to take his statement."

"Tell me first," said Bill. "He needs a friendly face to see before they start hounding him."

"My face isn't friendly?" asked Kingsley. "I'm offended."

Bill grinned and left the room. He had his wife to see, to reassure her that he was alright, and then some sleep to catch up on now that he knew Draco was back. He would be heading over to the infirmary later thought. Draco never slept much, and Bill doubted he could manage more than twelve hours at a time, even if he was exhausted.

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I used free online Latin dictionaries for the ritual, so there isn't even a beginning form of grammar, but the gist of the chants are:  
Dark changed/altered to Light; Cold to Heat  
Earth to Water; Thirst to Replenished  
Blood to Flesh; Death to Life  
Make anew the Spirit of Sirius Black

So, happy how it turned out? Leave one!


	23. Nightmares and Infirmary Visits

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the very big caffeine headache I am currently experiencing.

**Bena24**: Yes, it will be a shock for the Weasley's won't it? Unfortunately, they may not find out the entire story for a while yet….  
**Anna**: Well, Bill and Fleur's baby is due towards the end of December, which is in a few weeks for this timeline, so we're actually looking at the third story for the birth, but there will be one, promise.  
**Silvera**: I would like to write a Weasley conniption but they're a little bit preoccupied with Ron right now, but when things are explained, we'll have some shock and disbelief.  
**Critic**: Luckily, Bill's a bit off the hook just because Ron's still in a coma, so his parents aren't as nosey as they could be. I suppose that's good for Bill, else his mother would ream him out.  
**Molly**: We'll see more Ginny in this chapter, and Fleur will have a slightly larger part in the third story, what with the baby and all.  
**R2D2**: lol!  
**Sabireru**: I'm glad you liked it. As for marrying, well, you'd have to be able to support me so I can just write stories all day. How about that?  
**Sakuya**: Yeah, I get that too from my friends. Huh.  
**Silke****Knuts**" Glad you're looking forward to the chapters!  
**Loopy****loki**: Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far.  
**Lemola**: I'm always glad to hear from new readers. I love hearing from people who have read the stories mostly straight through because they have such a different view because they haven't been anticipating the chapters during the week, so it's a very fresh perspective. Thanks again!  
**Lilith**: Yay! Long review! Alright, Lucius with a cane I think I can manage (third story, fancy restaurant, father-son confrontation concerning a third party – look for it) as for slash, sorry, I just don't see it happening. As for the Weasley's finding out, not until the third story, but in the very beginning. I really think this story will only have 27 chapters, so that's like what, four more until the end? Expect angst at the end of this story, lots of it. Yay again. I luv long updates.  
**Meirta**: Thank you very much and I'm glad you decided you liked the chapter. Voldemort's Horcrux is still in the Veil, just Sirius was pulled out, so the Order will have to go back for it.  
**Spyrit**: I've had a few other reviewers comment that Harry and Draco should compare scars, or at least start a convention. Just think, I could sell tickets! And yes, Goyle has the DE code of conduct down in one: follow the Dark Lord for power until you get hurt and then do everything possible to save yourself above all. Voldemort should start recruiting in Huffle-Puff or something. He might get farther.  
**Freyalyn**: Actually, the next few chapters are breathers, or rather, breathers for the reader but Draco's going to get a lot of crap dumped on him. Not in this chapter, but the next coming ones. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Astaroth**: Hope your finals went okay. Mine are coming up in a few weeks. I might or might not update then. It sorta depends how screwed I am. Thanks for reviewing and I'm glad that you liked the chapters.  
**Sanjs**: LOL! You put them on hold? That's brilliant. Hey, if they have time to take a vacation, then they have time to wait while you see how Draco escaped. Seems fair to me.  
**Silke****Knuts**: I'm updating! I swear, and actually, I have most of the rest of this story written.  
**Katie**: I know, I'm late. I'm sorry. But no, not over yet, almost, but not yet.  
**Drewberry**: Yeah, I was excited to bring back Sirius too, but then I actually tried writing him, and now I wonder if he was better off in the Veil, lol. Not that I would do that of course, but it'll be…an experience.

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_Draco was standing at the Veil, the tattered cloth swaying, just as it had been when he was there with the Death Eaters, but this time the voices were louder. Even so, he couldn't understand them._

_He sensed, rather than saw the presence behind him, and he turned to see Dumbledore walking towards him. He frowned, wondering what he was doing there._

_"Headmaster," he said, giving a short nod._

_Dumbledore took no note of him, and simply continued to walk, not slowing down at all. He knew then what the old man's intention was, and he reached out, intent on stopped the Headmaster, but found he couldn't move. Dumbledore walked right past him, nearing the curtain that separated the dead from the living, and then he was stepping through. Draco couldn't see him on the other side._

_Draco stumbled away from the Veil, finally capable of motion and he stared at the tattered cloth, his heart pounding in his chest. Had that really just happened?_

_The door at the top of the stairs opened and Harry Potter entered, along with a man with wild black hair. Sirius Black._

_Black was talking to Harry, and Draco could just make out their conversation._

_"Of course it's better on the other side. That's where everyone else is going."_

_"Then I'm glad to be going with you," said Harry._

_"Potter, what the hell are you doing?" Draco demanded, but they didn't notice him. Draco fell into step along side of them, calling Potter's name, but the boy didn't hear him. When he finally reached out, his hand went right through Harry's arm. Was he a ghost then? He hadn't remembered dying. What was going on?_

_Draco stopped, watching as they too neared the Veil, and then walked through. They disappeared._

_Draco ran up the steps of the room, pulling at the door, wanting it to open, to get out, but the door wouldn't budge. He looked around for his wand, but it was gone. He was powerless to escape._

_The door opened, emitting Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Draco ignored them, and tried running out the door before it closed, but as soon as he approached it, the door slammed shut, locking him in. He tried pulling on it again to no avail._

_"Granger, don't you dare walk through that Veil!" Draco shouted, running to catch up with the two best friends._

_"Harry's on the other side," said Ron. "He left already with Sirius."_

_Hermione smiled and Draco stepped in front of them, holding out his hands, trying to stop them. They walked right through him, like a cool breeze. They stepped through as well._

_With dread he turned to the door as it opened again, only to see Ginny Weasley appear with Laney holding her hand._

_"No," said Draco, stepping forward. "You're not taking her!"_

_Ginny looked up at him as she walked down the stairs. "Of course I'm not taking her," she said. "She wants to go herself." Draco was momentarily startled. She could see him?_

_Laney smiled up at him. "Are you coming too, Uncle Draco?"_

_"Coming where?" asked Draco._

_"To the other side, of course."_

_"What's on the other side?" asked Draco._

_Ginny laughed. "Don't you know? You are a genius, aren't you?"_

_"If you know can't you just tell me?"_

_"It doesn't work that way Draco, you know that, or at least, you should be able to realize that."_

_They were at the Veil now._

_"Just tell me why you're going through. What's over there?"_

_Laney waved good-bye to him and stepped through; Ginny paused at the threshold._

_"What's on the other side? Why are you going there?"_

_Ginny held out her hand. "You have to come with me to figure it out."_

_Draco looked at her. "Why do I have to hold your hand?"_

_"You can't ask questions, you just have to do it."_

_"Why?"_

_She gave him a sad sort of smile and stepped through the Veil. Draco clenched his jaw in frustration, his fingers tapping out his pattern as he studied the Veil. Should he just step through it?_

_The door opened again, and two people appeared, but one did not descend the steps. Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway; Bill Weasley jogged down the stairs. Both watched him._

_"Come on, Draco," said Bill. "Let's go."_

_"Where are you going or can't you tell me?"_

_"Got it in one," said Bill, giving him a grin. "But you can trust me."_

_Draco glanced up at the door where his father stood. "He isn't going," he told Bill._

_Bill shook his head. "No, he isn't, but if you choose, it has to be now."_

_"Why can't I have time to think it over?"_

_"Because life runs on time, and sometimes you don't get time to choose. This is one of those times."_

_"That's unfair. You obviously had time to choose."_

_"Don't be ridiculous," said Bill, "this is a dream; it's not really me so I really haven't decided anything. This is just your subconscious trying to make sense out of the past couple of days and trying to figure out just how you feel about actually joining the Order by using the Veil and people in your life to symbolize the choice you have to make and also the alienation you would feel if you did join."_

_"So what does it matter what I choose then?" asked Draco. "This is just an allegorical representation of my current situation in life which has no bearing on my actual future and which is probably taking place in less than two seconds of real time. It's just a dream."_

_"Well, that's where lines get blurred a little," said Bill. "You see, you were just involved in a conflict which took place right by Fate's doorstep."_

_"I don't believe in Fate," said Draco._

_"Maybe not, but people have recorded that after a prolonged exposure to the Veil they have an increased sensitivity to visions and foretellings of the future. You can't argue with the facts and that is proven to be true."_

_"I was in front of the Veil for less than half an hour."_

_"But you interacted with it. You pulled Sirius Black out of it which means that whatever essence the Veil is giving off when it's not active was significantly increased when you performed the ritual. After all, it was your blood that was used."_

_"So, what? This is Fate trying to warn me?"_

_Bill grinned again, but this time enigmatically, his expression holding hidden secrets which the real Bill never showed._

_"Maybe," he said._

_"But you can't tell me. Just like you can't tell me what's on the other side."_

_"Right, but I can tell you this, you have to come with me, if at all." Bill held out his hand._

_"I can walk through a Veil on my own."_

_Bill withdrew his hand. "Very well," he said. "But you may not make it on your own; in fact, the odds are very much against you this time."_

_"This is absurd. I'm going to wake up now."_

_"You can't wake up if you haven't finished the dream."_

_"I've always been able to wake myself up out of dreams."_

_"But not if it really is from Fate."_

_"There is no Fate!"_

_Bill gave a slight smile, a sad smile like his sister. "Good-bye then Draco."_

_He stepped through even as Draco shouted out "Wait!"_

_He stared at the Veil. They were all gone; all of them._

_"Wake up," he muttered, closing his eyes and throwing himself at his mental walls, He was able to wake up from dreams before, why not now? He resorted to digging his nails in his palms, hoping that the pain would wake him up. He could feel his nails biting into his skin, but he remained in the room. He pressed so hard blood started dripping from his hands, and still he was left alone._

_He looked up at his father, who jerked his head, telling Draco to come with him._

_Draco frowned and then slowly walked up the stairs, but he didn't leave the room, he just looked out of it. There was blood on the floor where his father stood, and further down the hall, behind all of the open doors that led to other rooms, there was screaming, and shouting, and curses ricocheted off walls._

_One door in the entrance room was not open though, and from underneath the crack at the bottom, white light streamed out. Draco looked back up at his father who held out a hand for Draco to join him, but his hand was red and dripping blood._

_Draco shook his head, backing up from the door._

_"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't do it."_

_He turned before he could see his father's reaction and ran down the stone steps. He ran for the Veil, not slowing down because if he did he might lose his nerve. The Veil grew closer, the voices grew louder, and then he was plunging through –_

_And he stumbled out of the other side, falling to his hands and knees, still in the room with the stone benches and stone floor, and the Veil was merely behind him now, waving faintly as it slowly lost momentum from when he had jumped through. He was still there, still alone._

_He looked up, seeing his father at the door, but his father was shaking his head, and turning away. The door started to swing shut._

_Draco jumped to his feet, barely feeling his scraped palms and knees. He ran for the door, taking the stairs two at a time, but the door was closing faster, and just as he reached the top, it clanged shut._

_"No!"_

"No!"

It was the first time Draco had woken up screaming. To be sure, when he had been going through withdrawal he had woken up yelling almost every night, but nightmares had never provoked that kind of response. Usually, his eyes would snap open and he would have to calm his breathing, but that was it. Once he had actually jerked up because of a dream, but the loudest sound that had come from his lips had been a quick intake of air, not even worthy of being called a gasp.

This time, however, it was his own screams that woke him up, and he was bolting out of the bed before he had even opened his eyes. The hands on his chest, and the hands around his wrists caused him to struggle further, but then his eyes were open, taking in the faces around him, and the hands were pushing with back with a strength he couldn't fight.

He frantically searched the faces around him before finding the one with concerned hazel eyes and red hair. He stopped struggling, letting himself go limp against the pillows and trying to gasp in air.

"That's it," said Bill. "Deep breaths, you're okay, you're out. You're going to be alright."

Draco nodded weakly and the hands that had been on his chest, holding him down, were removed. That had been Dumbledore, whose blue eyes twinkled at him reassuringly. The hands were still on his wrists though, Madame Pomfrey holding onto his right and Bill holding his left.

"Relax your hands," said Pomfrey gently. "Let's see what you did."

Draco finally realized that his fists were clenched, and that his nails were embedded in his flesh. He had to actually concentrate on releasing his fingers because his knuckles had locked from the pressure he had put on them.

"There you go," said Pomfrey, examining his right palm, but Bill had to help uncurl his left fingers. Draco winced in pain; Bill winced in sympathy.

"Some minor cuts, but your right hand will be alright. I'll put some cream on this. Bill, how's his left hand doing?"

"Not so good," said Bill.

Draco sat up a bit to peer at the damage he had done. It wasn't that bad; he had just managed to reopen the cut that the Dark Lord had given him and it was bleeding afresh.

Pomfrey smeared some cream on his right hand and then cleaned the blood from his left before bandaging it.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm fine," said Draco.

She gave him a look and so Draco actually considered the question. His entire back was sore, but his ribs were no longer hurting him so much. His head, for the first time in days, wasn't throbbing, just a slight ache, and his ankle was numb. The only part of him that really hurt was his left arm. Even his hands were feeling better now that the cream had been put on them.

"My arm is sore," he said. "That's it."

"We'll see how you are feeling in the morning, and if it is still painful when you wake up, I'll give you a pain reliever."

"What do you mean when I wake up?" Draco demanded. He wasn't going back to bed, not when he had just slept for – what time was it? "What time is it?"

"Three," said Bill. "You slept over twelve hours."

"And you're going to sleep another twelve at least," said Pomfrey.

"I'm not going to sleep an entire day," said Draco. "There are things to do." He turned to Dumbledore. "The Dark Lord knows how to call the horcrux out. You should put Aurors on the coin display so he can't try himself."

"The coins sent to Germany are duplicates. The originals are at the Order's Headquarters," said Dumbledore. "You see, we have everything all taken care of. Go back to sleep, Draco."

Draco frowned at that. "Well, you should still get the horcrux out now. Given time, the Dark Lord will set up spies in the Ministry to alert him when you try to pull it out, and he'll fight for it rather hard. The ritual isn't that hard, but if Bill hasn't translated the runes yet I could accompany you."

"We'll risk waiting," said Dumbledore. "I have no doubt the security around the Veil will be quite sufficient for a later retrieval, but I promise, you shall be the one to call the Horcrux out. I think you have deserved that, most assuredly."

Pomfrey held out a vial of sleeping potion; Draco glared at it.

"I'm not tired," he said.

"Maybe not your mind, but your body needs it."

"I'm not taking it."

"Draco."

Draco turned to Bill. "I'm not tired!" he protested.

"Then why are you whining like a four year old?" asked Bill, amusement in his hazel eyes.

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but he realized he had been somewhat childish about the whole thing. He was obviously not going to get any support from Bill, or Dumbledore for that matter.

"I don't want to go to sleep," he said, his mind flashing back to the disturbing dream about a Veil and trying to run through it.

"I'll give you some Dreamless Sleep after you take this one," said Pomfrey, understanding the hesitation.

Draco stared at the vial she held out to him.

"If you don't take it, I'll go Muggle and give you an injection," said Pomfrey.

"Fine," said Draco.

He took the vial with ill-grace and tipped it into his mouth. The potion wasn't unpleasant, but that didn't mean it tasted good. He handed the empty vial back to Pomfrey and then settled back on the pillows, wincing slightly as his body reminded him that he had been a visitor of the Dark Lord's for the past few days and was still re-cooperating.

Pomfrey hustled off to get the second potion and Draco stared up at the ceiling, making it clear that he did not want to go back to sleep, nor did he think it was necessary.

"You going to be alright, Draco?" Bill asked quietly.

"I'm fine," said Draco.

"Was it a nightmare?"

Draco rolled his eyes to show that it was a stupid question.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Sometimes it helps if you do."

"I don't remember it," said Draco coolly.

The nurse came back over with the second potion and Draco downed it before rolling onto his side and glaring at the three of them.

"I'm trying to sleep here," he said testily.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Of course, my apologies. Sleep well, Draco."

He left, as did Pomfrey, and Draco was left glaring at Bill who merely smiled at him.

"I'm glad you're back, Draco."

"'Course I'm back," said Draco, biting back a yawn as the potion took hold of him. "I'm a bloody genius."

"A rather cranky genius."

"I don't do cranky; I merely become annoyed at the deficiencies of others."

Bill laughed. "Go to sleep, Draco. Merlin knows you need it."

"I'm trying. You insist on conversing with me."

Bill smiled. "Good night, then. Sleep well."

Draco nodded and the former Professor got up to leave, but Draco stopped him.

"Bill."

Bill raised his eyebrows.

"Thanks," said Draco, not quite smoothly, but expressing his gratitude wasn't quite as awkward as it had been a year ago. "For coming to the Veil."

"Anytime," said Bill seriously.

"Bloody Gryffindor," Draco muttered.

He was asleep only a few moments later.

He woke up once in the night, and he opened his eyes enough to see the Weasley father sitting over Ron's inert form, and for some reason, he felt a bolt of sympathy for the red-haired family, but before he allowed himself to empathize further, or mentally kick himself for the emotion, he rolled over and fell back asleep.

The next time he awoke was early morning. The sun was up, but only just fully so, and the infirmary was bright and quiet. Draco stared at the sunbeams on the high ceiling before deciding that he was bored. He was just contemplating the pros and cons of getting out of bed when the infirmary door swung open and Ginny Weasley entered.

She was no doubt checking on her brother, but when she saw him awake, she made a detour for his bed.

"Hi," she said.

Draco raised an eyebrow, wondering why the girl felt compelled to speak with him, but sat up. She took the chair next to his bed.

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"I'm fine."

Instead of rolling her eyes like everyone else, she smiled. "Well, that's good, because you look like shit."

Draco blinked. "Pardon?"

She shrugged. "You're really pale."

"I'm always pale."

"You're paler than usual, and you've got circles under your eyes."

"Why do I care?"

She shrugged. "Just thought you might want to know."

"And I thought people were supposed to be nice to those in the infirmary."

"But that's so boring. Don't tell me you actually want me to ask you a thousand and one questions to see how you are doing and then tell you that you're looking a lot better. In this case, the truth is much more interesting."

Draco stared at her. "You're a morning person, aren't you?"

"No, I'm always like this."

"Incredibly obnoxious?"

"Talkative, blunt, extremely attractive, you know."

Draco snorted to avoid actually laughing at her.

"You look nicer when you aren't frowning," she told him seriously.

"I thought I looked like shit."

"Yeah, but at least you're a smiling pile of shit."

"Flattered, I'm sure."

She grinned. "Well, I'm off to go check on Ron. Here, you look bored. I finished it already."

She handed him a book and then skipped off to her father who had fallen asleep by the Weasel's bed. Draco read the title, recognizing it as Marlin Brimley's latest work. He had actually wanted to read it. He shifted his pillows so he was sitting up more comfortably and flipped it open.

He was half-way through the first chapter when Pomfrey came in, and after examining him and giving him a few potions, got him breakfast. Draco absentmindedly ate while he read, putting the book down when Pomfrey collected his empty dishes and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Pomfrey asked in a stern, disbelieving voice.

Draco paused. "Getting up?"

She snorted. "As if. Back in bed."

"I feel fine," said Draco.

"That's because you just woke up and your body is still under the influence of several heavy pain medications. You were seriously injured when you came here, and you are still recovering."

"I can recover in my room just as well as here."

"You cannot because I would not be there to check-up on you. Further strain on your body would just harm yourself and hinder your recovery."

"Going to my room isn't going to add stress," said Draco.

"Let me be the judge of that," said Pomfrey. "Besides, I had to reset your ankle, so you can't put any pressure on it for two days."

Draco knew she was right, and he grudgingly lay back on the bed. Still, two days was a long time to be stuck in the infirmary. He sighed and picked up the book again. Pomfrey sighed and pulled the blankets up over him, leaving with a shake of her head and muttering about foolish patients catching cold. Draco rolled his eyes.

He was on the third chapter when Bill came in, smiling when he spotted Draco sitting up with the book.

"Look who's awake," he said, coming over and claiming the chair by his bed.

"Don't say it like it's something amazing," said Draco, "I was awake yesterday too."

"And you're still just as cranky," said Bill.

Draco put down the book to look at him. "I'm stuck here for two days," he told Bill, a roundabout way of apologizing for being so curt.

"I'm sorry," said Bill. "Do you want anything?"

"Not right now," said Draco, holding up the book.

"Isn't that Ginny's?" asked Bill.

"She's done with it and gave it to me. Something about I looked like shit and really bored."

"So, you read Brimley as well."

"Surprised?"

"Not really. But I do have something that you'll probably like." Bill reached into his coat pocket and produced a wand. Draco immediately knew it was his and he hadn't realized how much he missed it until Bill placed it into his palm.

"Where did you-?"

"At your house," said Bill. "The Aurors swept through it and found the collection of wands taken from you and the other students. And I knew someone at the Ministry, so even though normally they would have confiscated this…," Bill pulled a second wand from his pocket and Draco raised an eyebrow.

"That's my unregistered wand," he said.

"Yeah, just don't tell anyone. You'll ruin my Gryffindor image."

Draco smirked and took that wand as well, twirling them both through his fingers to check feel for any spells or fractures in the wood, but they were both sound.

"Do you know-," he started, but then Bill handed him the ivory charm on the black leather strap.

"Thanks," he said, pulling it over his head and tightening the slip knots so that the necklace hung close around his neck.

"Do you ever take it off?" asked Bill.

"Are you going to get sentimental if I tell you no?"

"Probably," said Bill.

Draco smirked but told the truth. "I don't," he said.

Bill smiled, but changed the subject. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good right now, but Pomfrey says it's just the pain meds."

"I don't doubt it. You were beat up rather badly."

Draco shrugged. "I survived."

The doors opened again, admitting Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Draco sighed as the two approached.

"How are you feeling today, Draco?" asked Dumbledore.

"Fine," said Draco.

"You use that word too much," said Bill.

"Are you feeling up to giving your statement to Kingsley?" asked the Headmaster, twinkling at Bill's somewhat resigned comment.

"Nothing else to do."

"And would you mind if I sat in as well?"

"You have nothing to do too?" asked Draco, but then he shrugged and turned to Bill. "I suppose you're going to ask now as well?"

"No, I'm going to sit in whether you like it or not."

Draco snorted, and then Bill pulled the curtains half-way shut to block out the other side of the room which consisted of Weasleys. He returned to his seat, and then Dumbledore conjured two more for himself and Kingsley. The Auror pulled out a piece of parchment and set a dictating quill on it.

"Start at the beginning," said Kingsley. "Where were you when the alarm went off?"

"In my room," said Draco. "I had just figured out the grammar syntax of the second Persian Runes when the warning bell rang and I left to go find Laney."

He related the events of getting out of the castle with Laney, and then trying to make it to the boats that were being overturned by the Death Eaters. He described getting captured by the Death Eaters and waking up in his own home. Bill had looked positively worried when he mentioned being taken to the Dark Lord and he glazed over the bit about the knife by merely raising his bandaged arm and saying 'That's when I got this.'

He then described the escape plan, but as he had already translated the chapter title of the code, he gave the information to Ron for him to take back, and then he had stayed. The Dark Lord had thought it was a trap though, and had put him in with Claire. He saw through the test, tried to escape, and managed to fall down a flight of stairs for his trouble. He then related being taken into a room to translate the runes with Lorenzo Holiday and Claire Jameson.

"About Holiday," said Dumbledore. "He was found at his house a day ago. He's-,"

"Dead," said Draco. "I know. He wasn't being the greatest of helps, and when the Dark Lord found out, he killed him." He shook his head. "I could have included him more, but he kept thinking that I was translating it the wrong way, and he wasn't listening to me. We were all working on no sleep and just the wakefulness potions, so we were…easily aggravated. When he finally fell asleep, I told Claire that he wasn't helping anyway, so she should just leave him. And when the Dark Lord came in and wondered why he wasn't helping, Claire told him that Holiday wasn't exactly useful, so…," Draco trailed off, before shrugging slightly, trying to sound as if he didn't care, but his voice caught when he spoke next. "Perhaps I should have…explained better so he could have helped."

"You couldn't have done anything," said Dumbledore. "Voldemort does not keep his prisoners alive when they are of no use to him anymore. Holiday would have been killed if he had helped or not."

Draco nodded, having already known that, but it was still a topic he didn't like to think about. He told them about arriving at the Ministry next, and pulling Sirius Black out instead of the horcrux.

"At first I thought that when I pulled out Black, the horcrux would come out as well because he had been holding onto it, but while I was in the cell I realized that the Horcrux is a soul of its own, or at least, a part of a soul. Because of that, they would be mutually exclusive, but the Dark Lord wasn't aware of that, so when I did pull Black out, he didn't object. He was rather irate when he discovered that his Horcrux wasn't retrieved. I may have…taunted him about that. When he discovered the Aurors were coming, he tried to have me Portkeyed away, but I escaped by cutting off Goyle's arm." He grimaced at that.

"It's been reattached. He'll be fine," said Bill. "Well, fine in Azkaban."

Draco was strangely relieved to hear that. If he had killed him, he doubted he would have felt as guilty because Goyle had killed children before, but maiming someone like that was a little more disconcerting, probably because after having a knife through his own arm he was a little more appreciative of the limbs.

"How's your arm doing?" asked Bill, as if reading his thoughts.

"It's alright," said Draco.

"You have a hole through your arm," said Bill.

"It's alright, considering," Draco amended. He changed the subject. "What about Black? I didn't really want to pull him from the Veil right then, but the Aurors were somewhat late in arriving so I couldn't wait for Healers to stand by in case he was in shock or…well, ailing."

"He's fine," said Bill. "He's in St. Mungo's right now, but before he was conscious and aware and asking about Harry."

Draco frowned. "Isn't he still wanted for murder?"

"Wormtail was captured as well," said Bill. "Oh, did you know that Wormtail is-,"

"Peter Pettigrew," said Draco. "Who faked his own death and framed Black for others as well."

"You already knew that?"

Draco shrugged. "I've a Death Eater for a father," he said, by way of explanation.

"One thing I'm unclear on," said Kingsley. "Where did you get the knife?"

"It was the one that stabbed my arm, and also burnt it. During the escape I pocketed it, and it seems to have some sort of…invisibility ward on it, but can also change sizes to accommodate its surroundings. It's probably still in my trouser pocket, if you know where those went?"

"Your clothes have been cleaned and put in your room," said Dumbledore. "If what you say is true, than you will be the only person who can take the knife out because it sounds very much as if it's been bonded to you."

"That's what I thought," said Draco. "But I'll have to check the wards on the knife and see for sure."

"Do wait until you are recovered," said Dumbledore. "The crisis is over, and I think it's best to let yourself recharge before attempting to take apart what is most likely a rather complex dark artifact."

"I just slept for over twenty-four hours. I don't think I can get more 'recharged' than I am right now."

"Let your body heal then, yes. No strenuous activities until you are out of the infirmary."

"What am I supposed to do then?" asked Draco, irritation seeping through his voice.

"You could take up crosswords," suggested Bill.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Harry, you need to wake up."

Harry groaned and rolled over, blinking open his eyes to spot the Headmaster by his bed, a candle in his hands. A sudden, chilling thought raced into Harry's mind and he jerked up.

"What's happened? Is it Ron? He's not dead, is he? He can't be dead-,"

"Harry, calm yourself. The news is much happier in nature."

"He woke up then?"

"This news does not concern Mr. Weasley."

"Then how can it be good news?" Harry muttered, but Dumbledore was already turning towards the door.

Harry grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around himself. It was December after all, and even magical castles are cold at night. He padded down the stairs into the Common Room. Dumbledore was seated on one of the armchairs and Harry took the one opposite him. Dumbledore had a bottle of butterbeer and two cups. He poured Harry a mug full and Harry took the drink suspiciously. The Headmaster had said it was good news, so why-?

"Harry, do you know why Draco Malfoy was a target for the Death Eaters?"

Harry frowned. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine, well, he's back here and injured, but he'll recover."

"But how-?"

"Answer my questions first, and then I'll answer yours. I promise."

Harry nodded and took a few sips of the butterbeer. It seemed fair enough.

"He translated something that the Dark Lord wanted, didn't he? It had to do with getting Voldemort's horcrux out of the Veil."

"That's right," said Dumbledore. "Before Ron slipped into a coma, he managed to give word from Draco to William. Draco was planning to lead the Death Eaters to the Veil tonight."

"And you ambushed them," said Harry, jumping to the correct conclusion.

"That's right," said Dumbledore. "The Aurors got Draco out and apprehended nineteen Death Eaters, including one Peter Pettigrew."

Harry gave a bitter smile. "So Sirius can have his good name back," he said. He took a long draught of the butterbeer, suppressing the loneliness and guilt he felt when he remembered Sirius.

When he put the cup down, Dumbledore was watching him.

"Harry, when the Aurors ambushed the Death Eaters, they had trouble getting inside the Veil room. Because of that, Draco completed the ritual, but Draco didn't pull out Voldemort's horcrux. Harry, Draco pulled out Sirius."

Harry blinked at the Headmaster and then realized that he wasn't going to be able to hold his cup anymore. He set it gently on the table and then looked back at Dumbledore.

"Sirius is out," he repeated.

Dumbledore smiled. "He's alive Harry. He's alive, and well, and in St. Mungo's. Fudge is issuing a full pardon right now, and Harry, he was asking for you. Sirius wants to see you."

Harry laughed in disbelief, amazement, and joy, and then realized that his eyes were stinging as well but he couldn't even brush away the tears. Dumbledore seemed to understand because his blue eyes were twinkling and then he was pulling Harry up and holding him close until Harry could stand on his own.

"Go get dressed, Harry. We're going to St. Mungo's."

Harry barely remembered bolting up the stairs to throw on his clothes, and it was a miracle that he even managed to get them on properly. Dumbledore had a portkey straight to the hospital, and then Harry and Dumbledore were appearing in the middle of a waiting room, and he was being rushed into a private room guarded by Aurors.

There was shouting coming from the room. A hoarse, irritated voice insisting that he was fine, that he didn't need to be bloody examined and there was no way he was going to go to sleep. Hell no, he was going to see his godson if he had to exercise his rights as a British citizen and walk out of there right now.

Harry grinned and then stepped into the room, his eyes feasting on the sight of the tall man in a hospital gown trying to get out of bed while three nurses tried to prevent him.

"Sirius," he said.

Sirius looked up, his eyes lighting on his face and breaking out into the huge grin that Harry had missed so much. Sirius held out his arms and Harry didn't hesitate. He ran straight to his godfather, flinging his arms around his neck and clinging to him like he was never letting go. Sirius returned the embrace.

"I thought you were dead," Harry managed roughly.

"Dead?" Sirius scoffed. "It takes more than some moth-eaten curtain to take me out."

Harry laughed, but held on that much tighter.

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Yay! Sirius!

Ahem. Anyways, sorry about the confusion about did I update, did I miss a week, what happened, etc. Well, F-fic was experiencing troubles, so I was experiences troubles, but it's all better now so leave a review.

Oh, little info on the up coming chapters. Most of the action is over for this story, and I can tell you that there will be 27 chapters in this one, so it's almost over, but before I move onto the third, Draco will show how to save a life (lol-song not mine), get disowned, and experience some angst which may push him to a breaking point. Just to let you know. Now you can leave a review.


	24. Books, Thanks, and a Bad Prognosis

**Disclaimer**: If I owned Harry Potter, then I wouldn't have to look for a job. I am looking for a job; you figure out the logic.

**A**/**N**: Hi! Umm, so the long wait. Well, finals sucked and I sorta realized that a lot more studying would have to be involved. We're talking 7 hours of sleep in 48. Then, I had to pack and drive home. Then I had to unpack, apply for jobs, and now I'm just waiting. Life, sigh.

**Anna**: Dec 9th? Sorry, just a few days too early. But it'll be close. Thanks for reviewing.  
**Bena24**: Yeah, it would be a good chapter (Sirius finding out about Draco), however, because my Sirius isn't quite up to par with Rowling's, we just may have to skip that a little bit (sheepish smile).  
**R2D2**: I try to keep all my chapters at around 17 pages, and that one almost made it, but I think it seemed even shorter because the dream sequence was so long, and I totally didn't mean for it, but it just happened.  
**Sayuka**: Yeah, I've started outlining the third which will go up right after the third, and actually I think for the complete series, I actually need a fourth story (so Voldemort can be defeated). The fourth will not be up right after the third though. I'm going to take a break and put up a different one, because I think by the time I'm done with the third, I'm going to be sick of them.  
**Silke****Knuts**: Thank you!!!!  
**Scrapped****Scarlet**: I'm glad that you like it! As for the romance, I know that sometimes on this site, the romances are so cliché you just want one without it, but, if you don't like how the D/G turns out, you've got two stories without it! Thanks.  
**Freyalyn**: I really like that 'deficiencies of others' line as well, so I love it when reviewers mention it. It makes me feel that my pride is justified. And don't worry, there will be lots of huggy moments in the third story with Draco joining the Order even though the rest of this story may be kinda angsty.  
**Spyrit**: Ack. Sorry about the wait. The dream has more meaning, and may be explored a bit more in the third but will have more bearing on the fourth (oh gosh, I just can't get away from this series). The third will be up right after the second, but the fourth might be on hold, because I have a feeling I'll need to take a break. I do not know how J.K. did seven in a row. Insane.  
**Beth**: Rest assured, there will be a third with a D/G relationship, and it will be up right after the second, so there's no need to cry. I'm glad you like it that much though!  
**Molly**: You nailed it in one, the adults are making Laney wait because Draco isn't in any danger, he just needs to sleep. And the dream does indeed have deeper meanings. And Pomfrey really is looking for a miracle in trying to keep Draco in bed. Thanks!  
**Katie**: Nope, not over yet, and then there's the third. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Sanjs**: The charm was what Bill gave Draco for Christmas in the first book, and Draco hadn't taken it off until then. As for what Sirius saw behind the Veil, umm, well I think he forgot most of it when he came back out, but I may toy with the idea of him seeing something. Thanks for the idea, and for the review.  
**Lilith**: I'm going to make you SQUEE again. I'm going to write a fourth. Don't get to happy, because while the third will follow the second right after, the fourth won't. The fourth is going to be after I get to write a few others. Oh, and Draco doesn't have an actual hole in his arm anymore, it's just scar tissue now. And no, never sick of long reviews!  
**Helen**: Ah! I just made you wait three weeks. Oops, sorry. But I'm glad you're liking the story. And yes, the D/G will be starting right at the beginning of the third story, which will be following the second very closely, so I hope you like it!  
**Natalie**: Umm, I actually forget what's in this chapter. There's some slight D/G I think, but the real relationship will start right at the beginning of the third story.  
**Tespu**: You've probably really lost all feeling for this fic now that it's been so long. You can re-read it though I guess, unless re-reading things is boring for you, because I know sometimes it's tedious to do so.  
**Anon**: Yeah, everything's good. Just life interrupting. Sorry for the wait, but thanks for asking! I feel loved.

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Draco was sick of being in the infirmary, and it was only mid-afternoon. So far Pomfrey had given him more potions, had made him soak his arm in a basin full of murtlap and other herbs, and then forced him to choke down all of his lunch by holding his, or rather Ginny's, book hostage until he had eaten enough to her satisfaction. Draco was debating whether or not he should purposefully make himself sick just so that she would understand that there was only so much he could actually fit into his stomach.

The crowd of red-haired bystanders only made the whole thing that much worse because he was sure that they had come to the correct conclusion (that he wasn't exactly on the Death Eaters' side), but they were still wary of him. He could see it in the way they would glance over to his bed every now and then. He ignored them, pointedly.

He was in the middle of the seventh chapter when the door opened and a cry of 'Uncle Draco!' made him jerk his head up. He, of course, was expecting his niece and sister-in-law as Dumbledore had explained to him that Laney and Sam were staying at the Order until the threat had passed and that Laney was anxious to see him.

Laney ran over to the bed and immediately climbed up, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing tight. He hugged her as well, damn the fact that his shoulders and ribs protested at the motion.

When the little girl finally pulled away, Sam was there to embrace him as well, but gentler, and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"How are you?" she asked.

"A little sore, but I'm alright," said Draco truthfully. "How are you doing?"

"Overwhelmed," said Sam, giving a little smile. "Staying with a houseful of wizards and witches is fascinating, but a little much at the same time. But everyone has been wonderful."

"Who's been at the house?"

"Tonks is staying there for a while, as well as her parents, so I'm not the only one who can't levitate a chair. Remus Lupin has taken up residence and he's been teaching me some finer facts of magical life. He was your professor, right?"

Draco nodded.

"Fleur Weasley has been coming over as well. She's a lovely girl, and occasionally a few other members or professors come to check up on us."

"Sometimes Professor McGonagall comes and she changes into her cat to play with Merlin," said Laney. "And Fleur taught me how to change Merlin's fur color. He looks really pretty when he's blue but I don't think he likes it very much."

Draco's lips twitched. "No, I don't think he would."

"Tonks can change too, but not into an animal, just people. She changed into Dumbledore once, it was really funny. And Mr. Tonks has really cool coloring supplies. Did you know he can't do magic either? But he paints really pretty. He let me paint some too. Mom, do you have it?"

Sam smiled and pulled a piece of paper from her purse. She handed it to Laney who thrust it in front of Draco's face.

"See?" she said. "That's Merlin, and me and you and Mom at Hogwarts."

"I see," said Draco.

"I painted it so you could have it," she said.

He took the picture, smiling slightly. It was easy to tell which blob was who, but that was about it.

"It's very pretty," he said. "Thinking of art as a career?"

"Nope," said Laney. "I want to teach Transfigurations at Hogwarts."

Of course she would.

"Laney!"

All three turned to see Ginny Weasley enter the room and wave at Laney. The girl, in response, got off of the bed and ran over to give Ginny a hug. Ginny scooped the girl up and walked over to Draco and Sam.

"How've you been?" Ginny was asking. "I haven't seen you in so long."

"I've been good," said Laney, as Ginny set her back down on the bed. "We're visiting Uncle Draco."

"So I see," said Ginny. She turned to Sam. "Hi, I'm Ginny. I'm in Laney's house."

Sam shook her hand. "I'm Samantha, Laney's mum. She's talked a lot about you."

"Uh-oh," said Ginny, shooting a look at Laney, who giggled.

"So, you know Draco then, yes?" asked Sam.

"Oh yeah," said Ginny. "We went to the Halloween Dance together." She gave Draco a sweet smile and Draco rolled his eyes.

"It wasn't like that," he said.

"Mm-hmm," said Ginny, in a 'whatever you say' sort of tone. She was practically smirking at him. "Well, I've got to go. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Chalmers."

"It's Sam."

"Sam," Ginny corrected. She gave them a quick smile and then walked off to join her family. Sam turned to Draco with raised eyebrows.

"The dance, Draco?"

"Her idea, not mine."

"But you still said yes."

"Because she was bloody annoying about it."

"I think she's sweet," said Sam. "Really cute too, wouldn't you say?"

She was baiting him.

"No, red-heads aren't my type," said Draco.

"Nonsense. Every guy likes a red-head, don't even try denying that."

"I like her," said Laney. "I think you should marry her, Uncle Draco."

Draco groaned. "I'm not going to marry her, Laney. I don't even like her like that."

"Like what?"

"Like how your mum liked your dad."

"Oh. But when are you going to find someone you like?"

"Ten years," said Draco, just to displace any notion that he was going to 'like' someone.

"I don't know," said Sam, peering after Ginny. "Spend a couple of days with her, and I think you might change your mind."

Draco sighed, but didn't debate it any further. There was no point trying to argue with women.

Sam and Laney didn't stay long after that because Pomfrey insisted that Draco needed to take a nap. Draco told her that the nurse was suffering from a severe case of insanity if she thought he was actually going to sleep again. Pomfrey gave a look to Sam, who immediately started fussing over him, tucking him into bed, kissing him on the cheek, and then telling him to sleep because it would make her feel better, knowing that he was recovering well.

The lady was Slytherin, through and through.

Draco found himself lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with the curtains pulled shut, wondering how Sam had gotten him to promise he would at least try to get some sleep. He also wondered why it sounded so good.

He did sleep, for three hours in fact, a real, deep, dreamless sleep, only waking up when his curtains were pulled back a bit and Bill peeked through.

"Oh," said Bill. "You sleeping?"

"No," said Draco, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

Bill laughed and then took a seat by his bed, setting a bag down on the floor. "How have you been?" he asked, then quickly added, "if you say fine, I will put a silencing charm on you for your duration of your hospital stay."

Draco smirked. "Tolerable," he said.

"Very cute."

"I am though, the 'f' word," said Draco. "And I'm getting more sleep than is good for me."

"Nonsense. You have to make up for all those sleepless nights somehow, why not now?"

"I've overcompensated at this point. I'll be up all night."

"Somehow I doubt that."

Draco rolled his eyes, and then turned to prop the pillows up behind him. And of course because Bill was there, and because Bill was a Gryffindor, he was immediately taking over the task.

"I am capable of moving my own pillows," said Draco, once they had been arranged to Bill's satisfaction.

"I know," said Bill. "I just like to annoy you." His tone was teasing and his eyes sparkled, almost like Dumbledore's. Draco snorted.

"What's in the bag?" he asked.

"This," said Bill, reaching down to open it, "is for you. I've got you Theories of Transfigurations, Creating Potions without the Cauldron, a book on Quantum Physics, and a book on alternate universes, string theory, and other crazy smart stuff. Then, when you get bored of that, I got you a book of sudoku. They're these number puzzle things. I got you the expert level one, because, well, knowing you it won't take you all that long to do them."

Bill set the books on the bed and Draco sifted through them before looking up at Bill.

"Thanks," he said.

"Oh no, this is purely self-protection," said Bill. "I figured since we are keeping you in bed against your will, I should at least make sure that you aren't plotting retaliation. See, with all of this, your mind will be otherwise occupied."

Draco smirked.

There were a few exclamations outside the curtain and Bill peeked out.

"Harry's here," he said. "I'll be right back."

Bill left and Draco picked up the sudoku puzzle book. He knew what it was, but he had never tried one. He flipped to the first page and stared at the square. Only a few numbers were filled in, and it took him a few moments, but once he had filled in a row, it was easier to see which numbers worked where. He was done in a little over a minute; it was actually rather fun.

He paged to the back to see that there was another version of the game, one where a few blocks were highlighted and the total of their numbers given. This one proved to be more difficult, and he was just debating the use of a quill when the privacy curtains were pulled back to reveal Harry and Hermione.

"What?" he asked.

"You got Sirius out of the Veil," said Harry.

"So?"

Harry smiled, his green eyes radiating sincerity. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you so much. You don't understand what this means to me. I don't know how I can-,"

"Potter, if I had known that you were going to subject me to the ramblings of your gratitude, I would have left him in the Veil."

Harry just grinned. "Yeah, I was thinking about giving you a thank you card, but I figured you would just burn it. But that's okay. I'll find someway to say thank you, and it will be something that you won't be able to say 'no' to."

"Spare me," said Draco.

"Well, you seem to be alright," said Hermione. "Still as sarcastic as ever. I'm actually somewhat thankful for that."

"I don't know," said Harry. "I think Snape has enough snark for everyone in the Order."

"I'm not in the Order."

"Well," said Harry, "that's something I want to talk to you about."

"Don't tell me Dumbledore sent you to recruit me," said Draco.

"Nope," said Harry. "It's just that, well, now that most of the Order knows that you aren't a Death Eater, I don't see what's holding you back from joining."

"The mutual dislike for one."

"Draco, you just pulled my godfather out of the Veil. I doubt anyone of them could dislike you now. Besides, most of them have met Laney and Sam and they get along fantastically."

"Fine. There's _my_ general dislike of you people."

"Bullshit."

That was Hermione and both boys turned to her in shock, although Harry did look a little proud of his girlfriend.

"What?" asked Draco.

"You don't dislike them, you just don't get along with them. Besides, you like me and Harry, don't you?"

"Don't push it."

"And you like Bill, and you seem to converse well with Dumbledore and Kingsley. Tonks is your cousin, you've trained Hagrid's thestral. You may not like Ron, but you can deal with him. In fact, the only person you probably don't like is Moody, and he's not even the Moody that turned you into a ferret."

Harry choked back a laugh; Draco glared at him.

"Besides," the Head Girl continued, "you can't do anything really big against Voldemort on your own. Even with your ambush at the Veil you still had to rely on the Order and Aurors. You're a genius, but even you need manpower. Besides, your goal must be to get rid of Voldemort, but Harry is the only one that can defeat him, so doesn't it make sense to join? Besides, you could shock the hell out of everyone when you join. Personally, I would do it just for the looks on their faces."

She had a point, but Draco wasn't going to tell her that.

"So," said Hermione, looking quite pleased with herself. "Are there any other objections you have?"

"You forgot to account for the fact that I can be contrary just for the sake of proving you wrong," said Draco.

Hermione's face fell, and she really did look quite disappointed. Draco sighed.

"I'll think about it," he said. "No promises."

Hermione smiled, grabbing Harry's hand excitedly. "Great!"

"I said I would think about it," said Draco. "Not that I was bloody joining."

"I know," said Hermione. "But I also know that you are a genius and so you thinking about it must mean that you will come to the correct conclusion, that joining the Order is the best thing to do, and so you will."

Draco groaned and Harry laughed at him, before being pulled away by Hermione.

"Sirius says 'thank you' too, by the way." And then the boy-hero and his girlfriend were gone and Draco let loose a breath before turning back to the numbers.

He didn't even look up when Bill returned, because although he had registered the eldest Weasley boy, he hadn't exactly noticed him. He frowned at the page, his fingers tapping out his pattern as his brain spouted out possibilities. This one took three minutes and then he smirked in satisfaction and set the book to the side.

"You really get into that, don't you?" asked Bill.

He shrugged. "It's fun."

Bill smiled, opened his mouth, shut it, and seemed to consider something for a moment. Draco raised an eyebrow as the ex-professor suddenly looked a little hesitant.

"Spit it out."

Bill sighed. "Alright," he said. "It's just, I don't want to pressure you or anything, and I know that perhaps this isn't the best time to ask, and maybe I just shouldn't ask at all, because it is your life, not mine, but, well…,"

"Well?" Draco prodded.

"I was wondering if you would let me tell my parents about you, about, well, explain to them why all of a sudden I'm acting like you're my new best friend. I mean, they're pretty sure that your not a Death Eater and all, but they've been grilling me and it's getting tiresome, so are you planning on revealing your genius anytime soon to the general population? It doesn't have to be now, or anything, but they've become somewhat disapproving."

"You're an adult for Merlin's sake," said Draco. "Can't you just not tell them? It's not like they can ground you or anything."

Bill flushed and Draco realized that he probably didn't quite realize what was going on here.

"Wait," he said, "is this one of those I can't quite comprehend why secrets of such magnitude might cause family problems because I under-value the significance of truth and familial relationships?"

"Well, I could just be way too concerned with their good opinion, and I really shouldn't have to explain to them my every move, it's just that, we're a close family. We could be too close, though. It might be that too, I mean-,"

"Bill, you're rambling."

"Sorry."

"Do you think it's possible to be too close to your family?" he asked.

Bill shook his head. "No."

Draco mulled that over. "And this is important to you."

"Yeah."

Draco nodded, looking down at his right hand which was tapping his 1-3-2-4 pattern so quickly his fingers were bungling. He forced himself to stop and take a breath.

"Do you think you could wait a few days?" he asked, his voice quiet and hesitant for some reason. He didn't like it.

"Of course," said Bill. "And I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with. If you'd rather not, just let me know."

Draco shrugged, meeting Bill's gaze. "Apparently Potter and Granger think I should join the Order."

"Wait, you're going to join the Order?"

"I'm thinking about it, or rather, I think I'm stalling. Once I finally own up to it, I'll let you know, and then you can fill in your parents."

"That's great," Bill grinned, absolutely enthused. He stopped smiling. "Why do you look so terrified?"

"I'm not terrified," Draco scowled. "I'm bloody nauseas. Just the idea of being stuck in the same building with you sodding do-gooders is enough to make anyone ill."

"Is it really that bad? I mean, do you really hate them that much?"

"I don't hate them, I hate…," Draco trailed off.

"You hate the idea of trusting other people," said Bill. "Especially ones that haven't exactly been civil to you."

"To say the least."

"You'll get through it though."

"Yeah, but I may end up in the psych ward of St. Mungo's."

"We aren't that bad."

"You're biased."

"Point."

Draco smirked.

When night came, Draco was surprised to find that he was actually tired. The last few days had been trying, but he just assumed that his body would recover as quickly as his mind had. Still, Pomfrey was pleased that he didn't object to the lights dimming and that he even settled back, intent on sleeping the night through. The quicker he caught up on his sleep, the quicker he could leave.

He was jerked out of sleep by an ear-splitting alarm and he almost jumped out of his bed. He managed to reach the curtains and pull them back to reveal the convulsing form of Ron Weasley while Arthur Weasley tried to hold him down, calling for help.

Pomfrey had an amazing reaction time, arriving at the scene in less than twenty seconds and already calling down half a dozen diagnostic spells and grabbing the black bag of potions that was right beside the bed. The black bag contained potions for life or death situations.

Draco couldn't quite make out what was going on because the light was dim, and because Pomfrey's back was to him. Still, he knew that it wasn't good. It took a full half an hour before Ron was deemed stable again and Pomfrey finally stepped back.

She drew Arthur Weasley to the side and Draco could just make out the low murmur of her voice, but it wasn't necessary to hear the words. Mr. Weasley stumbled back a step, losing all color in his face.

"No," he said, voice raised in denial.

"Arthur, I'm so sorry, but we're losing him," Poppy's voice was louder now too, trying to call the father's attention back to her words, and not dwelling on the fact that his youngest son was dying. "I'm going to set up a clean room in here, in hopes that the sterile environment might be enough to pull him out, but the prognosis isn't looking very good. I'm sorry."

"What does that mean? Clean room?"

"I'm going to start around Ron's bed, using spells to sterilize the entire area and work out from there, putting up a magical barrier as I go. I'm going to have to include this whole room, because the infirmary was designed to take the Healer's barrier and maintain the shield itself once it reaches the walls. Because of this, I can only allow one visitor at a time to come in from the outside, and not for very long."

"Can someone stay in the field?"

"Yes, but I wouldn't advise it. The person would have to stay here the entire time, and if that person left, they couldn't come back in. You shouldn't stay here because your family needs to stay together right now. It's for the best this way. If this doesn't work, and when…when it becomes obvious that he's fading, I'll drop the barrier, and all of you can visit him."

Arthur swallowed hard, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He stayed like that for sometime, trying to maintain his composure, but when he spoke again, his voice was strained.

"Alright. Let me just…let me tell him that we'll be visiting as often as we can."

"Of course."

The Weasley patriarch crossed to Ron's bed and grasped his hand, whispering to his son before leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. He nodded to Pomfrey and then began walking out. When he glanced up, his eyes met Draco's gaze. His expression was unreadable, and Draco watched him exit the room.

"Draco," said Pomfrey, "do you understand what the barrier means? If you're released before the shield is down, you can't come back in."

Draco nodded. He didn't care about returning; the shield meant that he was going to be very alone for the next few days, locked in a room with a dying Ron Weasley.

He lay back down as his mind started running through different scenarios. What if he had just left with the others? What if he hadn't been so obsessed with striking a blow at Voldemort? What if he had just gone in the safe house in the first place? To be sure, the Ministry ambush had been a clear success, but was the capture of nineteen Death Eaters really worth the life of the youngest Weasley boy, brother to Bill? He could have just gone to the Order and pulled the Horcrux out with their help, and then pulled out Sirius Black. How hard would that have been?

He closed his eyes, knowing that there was no way he could have foreseen the events that had led to this, but at the same time, the knowledge did not make him feel any better. The thoughts plagued him into sleep.

The next day was hell. Draco was restless, wanting to get up, but knowing that he should wait another before testing his ankle. He was incredibly grateful that Bill had brought him the books, because without them he really would have nothing to do while one member of the Weasley family was admitted for twenty minutes at a time before another hour had to pass before the next one came.

Draco had Pomfrey close the curtains around his bed before any of the red-heads came in, not wanting to see their faces or meet their gazes. Ginny spent a few moments to say 'hi' to Draco, but she wasn't the usual witty conversationalists she usually was, and kept drifting into silence. Draco hadn't known what to say either, and so they had sat in quiet.

Bill came in later that afternoon, spending half his time with his brother before slipping through the curtains around Draco's bed and sitting wearily in the chair. It was worse than the time when Ginny and Ron had been injured by the Death Eater attack, and Draco was slightly worried that he would say something to make Bill storm off again, or erupt in a fury.

Still, when a minute had gone by and Bill had said nothing, Draco had to speak.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

Bill ran a hand through his hair. "Not good."

He looked like hell too, but Draco wasn't going to say that.

"I'm sorry," he said, but whether he was apologizing for being one of the agents that had sent Ron into a coma, or just apologizing in general, he wasn't sure. Bill obviously thought the latter, because he gave a sad smile.

"Thanks," he said. "It's just…he's too young, you know? I still remember him when he was knee-high and running around in his nappy." Bill gave a little chuckle and Draco nodded.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

"I, uh, I don't know. This is the first time anything like this has happened, a death in the family, that is. I don't know what to do." He looked up at Draco. "How did you manage? With Lukas? You were young, do you remember?"

Draco paused. "I don't forget," he said finally. "They say that everything has a catch. You want to be capable of remembering everything you see in a book? Well you're going to remember everything you see in your life, and everything you hear and everything you feel, and every day that you live is perfectly clear, like it was yesterday. So yeah, I remember, and I remember that I didn't manage, or I haven't yet. I can't forget, but I can crowd things out easily, turn to something else, to passing the first eight years of Muggle school in the space of two months along with learning Italian. That's how I survived it."

"So I'm pretty much screwed then?" asked Bill.

Draco shook his head. "You've got your parents, and the rest of your family. It'll make it easier when they're near you. At first you'll alternate between rage, devastation, and complete numbness, but after a while, you'll be able to talk about him again. And you'll manage that way, and work things through and come to conclusions about the world and fate and life. And then, eventually, you'll start to forget. A few things you'll remember as clear as day, but the way he looked, how his voice sounded, will just be a vague memory, something you can't put into words. He'll be a pleasant haze to think back on, and you may be sad when you do remember, but you will also smile."

Bill stared at him. "I don't want to forget."

"But it's better that you do."

"Not right now, though. I can't right now."

"Hold onto the things that meant the most to you. Let the others go."

"He could never keep quiet. And he beat me in chess when he was six. He was always…loud and not exactly tactful, but he meant well. That's what I want to remember."

Draco nodded.

"You know, he saved Laney's life," said Bill suddenly. "He jumped out from where he was hiding so that Laney could get out. McGonagall told me and I thought, well, I thought you would want to know."

Draco stared, and then nodded.

"Bill, it's time to leave," said Pomfrey.

"I'll see you tomorrow," said Bill. "And thanks."

Draco watched him leave and then sank back on the bed. He hated thinking about Lukas because he really could remember everything about his brother. He could remember his face, and his voice, and the way he always threw his head back when he laughed. He also remembered his death in the sun-parlor, and how, when he finally hit the floor, he was still smiling but his bright blue eyes were dimmed. Draco remembered shock, incomprehension. He knew what the Avada was; he knew that his brother was dead, but he just couldn't understand.

He had screamed, frozen in place, and then he had been choking on sobs that he couldn't cry. Lucius had glared once at his mother, and Draco had known then that the woman hadn't long for the world, and then Lucius was picking him up, holding on just as tight as Draco was clinging to him, and they were leaving the room. And Lucius hadn't let go, not until Draco had fallen asleep, his face still unmarked by tears.

And now he knew that Ron had saved Lukas' daughter, and now he was going to die. Draco rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow. He didn't eat when Pomfrey brought him dinner and he only concentrated on keeping his thoughts blank. He fell asleep early in the morning.

He was surprised to get a letter in the morning from Sam, but he didn't think anything of it. He assumed she was just writing because they couldn't visit again, because of the barrier, and so he waited until breakfast to open it.

_Draco,  
I do hope you are feeling better. I'm writing with some bad news. Our house in the Muggle neighborhood was burned down last night and there was the Dark Mark cast above it. Everything was completely destroyed and a note was found in the mailbox, saying that if Laney tried to go back to school, she would be killed._

_They are targeting her specifically now, and although I have kept the news from her, I think she might suspect. She related to me that she understands the racism so prevalent in this wizarding society, and that she is one of the more obvious examples of a Half-Blood. I can't have her live like this, and I know that you will understand._

_Laney and I are moving to the States. The conflict has not reached America and I am reassured that they have nothing against Muggle-borns and Half-bloods there. We are leaving today, and I am sorry that we could not say good-bye in person, but I am told that the Weasley boy is dying, and so it did not seem right to take up his family's time. _

_We will be living in Virginia, and I already have a job and an apartment. Please come visit us for Christmas.  
With all my love,  
Sam_

Draco stared at the letter in his hands before setting it aside. He sat back against the headboard, pulling his knees up to his chest and circling his legs with his arms. It was odd. He had been so elated over the summer to be on his own, without a family to concern him, to tie him down. Now he was dreading that feeling of detachment.

He closed his eyes.

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To say that things had been rough was an understatement. Bill was making himself sick with Flooing back and forth between Hogwarts and home. He usually spent evenings and nights with Fleur in their house, after all, his wife was going to have a baby in the next month, but he would get up in the morning to Floo over to the school to check on Ron and the rest of his family.

If there was no change, he would Floo back home to make breakfast for Fleur, who would insist that she could make breakfast herself and that she should spend time with his family, but Bill wanted some semblance of normalcy. Then he, and sometimes Fleur would Floo to the school again right after lunch and spend the afternoon and evening there, finally going home to sleep.

Now that the barrier was set up though, Bill was staying more often at the school, even though he only got to see his brother for twenty minutes a day.

His mother was inconsolable, but he thought that his dad might be taking it worse. He was white-faced with circles under his eyes and he hardly ever ate. Charlie was taking care of them both as best he could, and even Percy had stopped by for a visit, but the relationship between them was still strained. Fred and George were spending massive amounts of time with Ginny, who they were convinced needed their help in coping, but they needed her as well.

It was the second day of the barrier. Bill hated it. He just wanted to be able to stay with Ron and believe that his family's presence was enough to pull the boy away from death, but he knew it was irrational.

He got to visit Ron in the early afternoon, and he spent the first half of the time sitting by his brother's bed, holding his hand. He didn't say anything because he didn't know what was appropriate. Did his brother know what was going on? Could he even hear him? If he could, would he understand? Bill didn't know, so he just sat there.

He then went to the curtained off bed and pulled back the fabric. Draco looked up at him from where he was buried in the string theory book.

"Hey," said the blond, putting the book down.

Bill sat in the chair, feeling tired and completely exhausted. He knew Draco was studying him, but this time the blond remained silent.

"He's getting worse," said Bill. "A few days, if even that."

Draco nodded. "How's your family doing?"

"They're handling it. Some worse than the others."

They lapsed into silence, and then Bill realized that Draco's expression was more than feeling empathetic.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"What?"

"You looked concerned."

Draco hesitated, and Bill almost wished he would say that something was the matter, if only so that he could concentrate on someone else's troubles and not his own.

Draco shook his head. "It's nothing," he said.

He was lying, but Bill knew that when he decided not to say something, when he really decided, no amount of pressure would get to him to cave.

Bill got up when Pomfrey came over.

"Take it easy," he said.

Draco nodded and then Bill left the barrier to join his family once more.

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Ah! The tension! Again, sorry for the wait and the next chapter will be up on schedule. Please leave a review!


	25. A Save, a Scar, and a Summons

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter I would be have a lot of fun this summer. I don't own Harry Potter so I'm doing pretty much nothing.

Sorry, I've no time to answer reviews here because I've got to pick a friend up and this week I actually want to make my deadline for this chapter.

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It was night.

This night was more of what Draco was used to because he found it difficult to sleep. He wondered if it was because he was finally recovered from his ordeal or if it was simply because he had a lot to think about and his mind refused to quiet.

He was unable to refrain from glancing over at Ron Weasley every now and then, to reassure himself that the boy was still alive. After today's revelations, well, Draco didn't want Ron to die, not when he owed the Gryffindor for saving Laney.

He sighed when sleep remained elusive still and then sat up in bed, wondering if Pomfrey would notice if he turned on the bedside light to read. If she did, she would no doubt come out and give him a sleeping draught. He kicked off his blankets and tried to find a comfortable position, but it turned him back to Weasley. There was a light on over the boy's bed, and the yellow tinge made the red-head look even sicker.

Draco sat up, swinging his legs over the bed and putting his feet on the cold floor. He slowly got up, testing his weight on his ankle, but besides emitting a dull ache, it seemed fine. He crossed over to Ron's bed, feeling as if he should at least say something before the boy slipped away entirely, but standing by the bedside just made him feel like an executioner.

He turned away, but his eyes caught sight of the diagnostic clipboard beside the tray full of potions. He picked it up, and flipped back the cover page, glancing down the list of symptoms and failed cures.

The witness, McGonagall, said that he had been hit by a reddish-purple light which had curved as it was sent so that struck him straight in the heart. It was the Sanguis Curse, which self-targeted the heart where the dark magic took hold. The curse spread through the blood, which then carried the dark magic to the organs and other body tissue, slowly shutting the entire body down. It was like a magical bacteria. The Healers had tried several infusions of Galway's Potion, and when that didn't work, the more potent Hart's stimulant along with a powerful wakening spell, in hopes to jump start his system. They had tried that a few times, but again, nothing.

Now the barrier was up. Sometimes, when the environment was clean enough, the body could fight the bacteria itself, drawing from the pure magic field, but it was apparent, in Ron's case, that he couldn't even begin to do so.

Draco frowned, re-checking the chart. That wasn't right. The only way Ron would be completely unaffected by the clean room was if he was too far gone, which meant he should have died already, within the first half hour of the field in fact, give or take three minutes. No, something was very wrong here.

Draco sat in the bedside chair because his feet were getting cold and checked the rest of Ron's chart. There were a few other pages that detailed separate injuries. Ron had suffered from a slight concussion and a few mild bruises. The last page detailed slight nerve damage due to the Cruciatus curse, and he had been given a regenerative potion.

Draco stared at that last bit, knowing that this was important, but not knowing exactly how right now. He closed his eyes and called up the chapter on the Cruciatus that he had read in the Medical Significance of Dark Curses. He had read it several years ago, but he could see the pages in his head. He saw the paragraph he needed now and honed in on the sentence. _Applied on children and teenagers, this curse can cause swelling in the blood, inflaming the cells, lasting for several days if untreated._

Draco's eyes snapped open. That was it.

Ron wasn't hit by the Sanguis Curse; he had been hit by the Aeris Curse, one which was also a reddish-purple color. This dark magic 'virus' latched onto the blood cells, rendering them incapable of carrying oxygen by slowly draining the cells and finally taking over them completely. A hit to the leg or arm may not be fatal, because it couldn't spread as quickly and there was more time to get to the Healer, but a direct hit to the heart or lungs, a large, central area for blood, death could occur in a little over a day.

However, Ron had been hit by the Cruciatus which had been known to inflame the blood in teenagers and children. That side effect would linger in the blood and would no doubt interfere with the Aeris curse, making it harder to drain the blood cells. That was why Ron's organs were slowly shutting down, not due to a virus attacking them, but because now the Aeris Curse was finally taking over having won the battle with the swollen blood cells.

There were two very different treatments for each curse. A blood replenishing potion would only cause the Sanguis Curse to spread faster and farther while it was vital for a person under the Aeris Curse to have a constant supply of fresh blood along with several infusions of a blood disinfectant over the course of twenty-four hours. Of course with Ron's condition, it was just best to do a complete blood transfusion.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

Draco looked up to see Pomfrey bustling over to him, face set in a disproving grimace.

"Curing Weasley here," said Draco. "You need to start a complete blood transfusion sometime in the next hour or so if you want him to live."

"What?"

Draco handed her the clipboard. "He was misdiagnosed. The Aeris Curse is also the same color. My suspicion is that the Cruciatus he endured caused his blood to inflame which held off the curse for so long, but now it's taking hold of him. He's dying not because of a magical bacteria but because his body doesn't have enough oxygen."

Pomfrey took the clipboard from him. "Minerva saw the curse curve to hit his heart. Only the Sanguis does that."

"It is possible to throw a curse on a curved projectery much like it's possible to throw a ball on such a course. Chasers do it all the time in Quidditch. Hitting Weasley in the heart was just a coincidence. If you test his blood, no doubt you'll find that he is oxygen deprived, and has been for a while."

Pomfrey studied him. "It makes sense," she allowed. "But a team of Healers from St. Mungo's diagnosed him."

"They've been wrong before. Besides, the Sanguis curse is hard to cast. I don't know of many Death Eaters who even know of it, much less practice it. Aeris is easier, more common. He needs a blood transfusion."

"A complete blood transfusion is an extremely risky procedure."

"You already have the clean room set up."

"I'll have to tell Arthur and Molly before I start-,"

"No."

"No?"

"Don't get their hopes up. Legally, you don't have to inform them if the situation is critical enough. When they come in tomorrow, just tell them that you're trying something new."

"If I start the blood transfusion, they won't be able to come in. The risk of infection is too high."

"Even better."

"They won't be able to say good-bye if it doesn't work."

"If it doesn't work, there'll be enough time to bring them in."

"You just don't want them to know that it was your idea."

"Of course not. I could kill him if I'm wrong."

"I'm the Healer."

"But I convinced you."

Pomfrey hesitated. "I'll run the diagnostic on his oxygen levels. If you're right, I'll start the transfusion. Right now thought, you're going to go back to bed before you catch cold and if you've even strained your ankle, I'm going to keep you here for another two days."

Draco nodded and then crawled back into bed. Pomfrey closed his curtains and he stared up at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the instruments. He was sure he was right; he just didn't know if he wasn't too late. He turned over and tried to get comfortable. He drifted off a few hours later.

Draco was woken in the morning because Pomfrey wanted to check his ankle. It was mostly healed, and she even allowed him to walk around the room for a little while before breakfast. He went straight to Weasley's bed, already noting that the boy was breathing easier and there was more color in his face.

"What's the prognosis?" he asked.

"You were right. His blood oxygen levels were severely depleted. As long as the procedure goes smoothly, I expect a full recovery. He'll wake up in a day or so."

Draco raised an eyebrow, not expecting that. Pomfrey smiled.

"He wasn't as bad as we thought. Well, that is, we thought the Sanguis was bad, but the actual Aeris hadn't run too far. You caught it in plenty of time."

Draco nodded and then smiled when the nurse looked away. He felt…relieved.

He was almost content to stay in the infirmary bed all day, at least, he was until after breakfast when Pomfrey pulled the bandages off his left arm and they could see how well it had healed.

Draco didn't exactly know what he had been expecting, but the wound still looked ugly. The swelling had faded, as had most of the discoloration but a few of the bruises still remained. The wound itself was healing nicely, the flesh closing together so that there was no longer a hole through his arm, but it was still ugly. The dark red scab ran in a jagged line on both sides of his arm. It would have been a simple cut clean through, but the Dark Lord had jerked his arm twice, and that had made the wound contoured in a way that looked incredibly serpentine. It could easily be a snake slithering towards his wrist.

Pomfrey apparently came to that conclusion as well because she looked up at him.

"I suppose it's a good thing you're in Slytherin," she said, smiling slightly.

Draco nodded roughly, but in truth, he didn't look at it so innocently. He had denied the Dark Lord and refused the Dark Mark. For all of that, for all of his planning and scheming and choosing, for all of the time spent changing his mind and talking with Bill, and he still had half the Dark Mark. The only thing missing was the skull. It wasn't fair.

He had a sudden urge to rant to Bill, who would say something comforting, or tell him it was merely coincidence, but then he remembered that Bill wouldn't even be coming in today because of the blood transfusion. They couldn't risk a contaminant in the Weasley's transfer.

He also reminded himself that Bill did have a brother who wasn't cured yet, and the complete blood transfusion wasn't exactly the safest of medical procedures. It wouldn't be fair to mention something so trivial and then expect sympathy. And besides, he didn't want sympathy. He hated it. He just…wanted to be able to speak with Bill, or even have Sam or Laney visit him to get his mind off of it, but they were in the States by now.

He drew his thoughts back to the present when Pomfrey finished cleaning his arm but then made no move to rebandage it.

"I just put some disinfectant and anti-bruise cream on it, but it needs to stay unwrapped for a day or so," said Pomfrey, and then she gathered her potions and went to put them away.

Draco clenched his jaw at that. Was he supposed to look at his arm for the entire day then? He was suddenly grateful that no one else was going to be allowed in the room. He would hate for anyone else to see it besides him.

He reached for a book, and invariably his eyes were drawn to the dark red scabs and fading blue bruises on his pale arm. He forced himself not to think about it but every time he turned a page, and every time he lifted the fork to his mouth when eating lunch, he focused on what was going to be a very serious scar.

The afternoon dragged by. Although the barrier was up, he could sometimes hear the Weasley's outside he infirmary doors. Pomfrey had sent them a letter through the Floo, saying that they would not be able to visit due to a new procedure she was trying on Ron, but they had still gathered to wait outside the doors anyway. Sometimes their voices would get loud, but usually it was when one of them was exclaiming 'Fred!' or 'George!' or both at the same time.

Towards evening Pomfrey tested Ron's blood again, and smiled.

"Oxygen count is basically normal," she told Draco. "We'll give him another replenishing potion along with the disinfectant, and perhaps another dose of both in the night, and then he should be waking up sometime afterwards. I'll have to keep him here a few days for observation, but he'll be fine. You saved his life."

"It just means we're even," said Draco.

After giving Ron the two potions, Pomfrey sent another letter through the Floo to the Headmaster's office where Dumbledore could relay the news that Ron appeared to be improving and, if everything continued going so well, he would make a full recovery.

Draco and Pomfrey knew the exact moment the Weasley's received the news because there was an explosion of laughter, cheers, and battle cries outside the infirmary doors. Draco assumed the latter were from the Weasley twins.

He was pleased that Ron would survive, but the ache in his arm kept him from being content. The knowledge that Laney and Sam had left was hard to handle as well, and for the first time in a year, he felt very much alone.

He was glad when night fell and he could stare into the dark and not see the scar on his arm, but for some reason his equations and theories weren't as distracting as they once were. He tossed and turned for a while until Pomfrey handed him a sleeping draught. He took it without complaint.

He would have slept longer, because when he did wake up, even though it was morning, he was extremely groggy, meaning that he hadn't quite slept off all of the potion, but someone was coughing and they wouldn't stop.

Draco scowled and sat up, pulling his curtains back to see Ron Weasley coughing as he tried to sit up in bed. Draco got up and crossed the floor between them. He picked up a purple potion and poured out a capful, handing it to Ron.

Ron stared at it in askance and Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm a genius, remember? It's not going to kill you."

Ron took the potion and downed it, grimacing at the taste but his coughs subsided and he stared at the infirmary for a bit before turning to Draco.

"You escaped," he said.

"Yeah," said Draco.

"How long was I out?"

"A week or so."

"Oh."

Ron pushed himself up a bit before turning to Draco again.

"How's your…," he trailed off when he spotted Draco's left arm, the damage speaking for itself. "It looks like a snake," he said.

"Yes, thank you for that."

Ron frowned. "You're a Slytherin. Shouldn't that make you happy?"

"Oh yes, completely ecstatic that the Dark Lord ran a knife through my arm just so I could have a scar," said Draco scathingly.

"That's not what I meant," said Ron. "I meant, well, at least it's a snake, right?"

"Yeah, and all I need now is a skull tattoo to go with it."

Ron's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh."

"Yeah. So how exactly did you think it could be worse?"

"Well," said Ron slowly, as if he was afraid of offending him, "a lightning bolt would be worse, right?"

Draco blinked, and then he snorted. "You may have a point," he conceded.

Ron grinned and then frowned. "Where is everyone?"

"You're awake!" Pomfrey hurried over to Ron's bedside. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"Alright, I guess," said Ron.

"I gave him a cough suppressor," said Draco.

"Were you coughing?" asked Pomfrey.

"Uh, yeah," said Ron. "It's really dry in here."

"That's the magical barrier," said Pomfrey. "We had to keep all the contaminants out while we gave you a complete blood transfusion."

"Oh," said Ron, clearly not knowing what it entailed but finding that it sound rather impressive.

"Your parents are downstairs eating right now with the rest of your family. They couldn't come in because of the field but as soon as I release Draco, he can go get them for you."

"I'm leaving?" asked Draco, finding that the news was quite exciting actually.

"You have some clothes by your bed, so as soon as I wrap your arm you can change and I'll take down the barrier. Let's see how your arm is doing." Pomfrey examined his arm, before nodding decisively. "It's healing nicely, but you'll have a bad scar. I'm afraid there's not a lot that cosmetics can do with this though. The burn is just too severe."

Draco nodded, already having suspected that and then Pomfrey rewrapped his arm in white gauze. Draco retreated behind the curtain to change, and once he had pulled on the school-issued black trousers and white button-up that was most likely taken from his room by the house elves, Pomfrey let him leave. He first took the books Bill had given him to his room and then headed down to the Great Hall.

He pushed open the door and entered unnoticed by the large red-haired family that was seated around the table. Harry and Hermione were there as well, neatly incorporated in the conversation and laughter. Said conversation and laughter stopped when Draco approached and they finally noticed him.

Every head turned in his direction and he found it somewhat unnerving, but he approached the Weasley patriarch, as his mannered upbringing demanded, and he gave a nod.

"Mr. Weasley, Madame Pomfrey sent me to inform you that your son has woken up and that he is able to receive visitors at this time."

"Thank you," said Arthur, even as the entire table jumped to their feet and ran for the door.

Draco nodded again and stepped back to allow the family to rush by. Bill ran over to him before darting out the door though.

"You're released?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Bill smiled. "Stick around. We'll have to catch up. I'm gonna run now though."

"Go," said Draco.

Bill grinned and ran to catch up with the rest of his family. Draco raised an eyebrow at the half-full plates left lying on the table and then left as well, but walking up to his dormitory which held all of his belongings. He needed to pack so that he could leave this place.

He entered the Common Room and trudged up the stairs into his room. He was not expecting to see the large Ministry owl sitting on his desk.

He crossed to the desk, taking the letter and immediately the owl left. Draco slowly fingered the smooth cream parchment, already knowing what the letter was going to say before he flipped it open and read the return address, The Bureau of Legal Affairs, subcategory Wills, Testaments, and Family Repute.

He sat heavily in his armchair and opened the letter, reading the message with a detached calm.

To Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy,

As ordered by the ranking authority in your family, Lucius Abraxas, you are no longer to be acknowledged as a member of the Malfoy family and are hereby renounced both legally and economically. You have legal right to withhold the name Malfoy as your own, but are to claim no connection with the latter family and corporations. The Bureau of Heritage and History has been informed of your disownment and has thus recorded it in the genealogies.

Lucius Abraxas has informed us that you are a bearer of the Malfoy signum. Such privilege is hereby stripped from your possession and you are to report to the Bureau of Legal Affairs, subcategory Wills, Testaments, and Family Repute for the proceeding which will relinquish you of such mark on December the Seventh at one in the afternoon.

If this date or time causes any inconvenience to you, please contact the Bureau as soon as possible for rescheduling.

Sincerely,

Edward Thurston

Draco dropped the letter onto the floor and sat back in his chair. His sister-in-law and niece had left, he now bore a scar from Lord Voldemort, more people than he was comfortable with knew that he was a genius, and now his father was legally disowning him. He felt numb.

Draco got up and pulled off his shirt, turning around and straining to see the signum on his back, knowing that in a few days the blood-red ink that depicted the two rowan trees framing the snake wrapped around a sword would be turned coal black, and while now the branches on the trees swayed slightly and although the snake coiled and uncoiled itself around the sword, in a few days, they would fall still. The mark would not just change colors and freeze though; the signum would be slashed through, forever showing the world that he was no longer of the Malfoy family.

He pulled his shirt back on and then packed his trunk for the Christmas break. He knew the right spells and so it only took him a few moments to neatly fold his belongings into his trunk. The school Floo was still down, otherwise he would have sent the trunk directly to his house. As it was, he shrunk his trunk to a ring-box size and pocketed it.

He checked the room over once, just to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything he might need, but he usually didn't. It was one of the perks to being a genius because right now he wanted to leave as fast as possible.

Draco left the Head's room and strode down the hall, intent on nothing more than making it to the carriages outside, but he paused half-way down the main hall. He backtracked and headed up to the infirmary.

He was loathed to enter the room because even from down the hall he could hear laughter and celebrations, but if he didn't tell Bill where he was going, than the Weasley would just look for him and find him, no doubt at a point in time where Draco just wanted to be alone. All he had to do was just tell Bill that he was leaving for a few, and that he would be fine and he could survive the next few days in solitude where no one would pry into his life, or ask him how he was feeling or how he was coping with the shit life was dumping on him at this very moment.

He stepped into the room and spotted Bill crowded with the others around Ron's bed, all of them talking over each other, interrupting a story to correct it or add to it. Draco leaned against the doorway and waited, not wanting to call out to Bill and gain everyone's attention.

Bill seemed to sense his presence because he paused in mid-conversation and looked up. Draco jerked his head to the hall and then left; a few moments later and Bill appeared in the hall.

"What's going on?" he asked with his usual smile, but his eyes were sparkling brighter than usual and he was bouncing lightly on his toes.

"I have to head out for a few days for a family thing," said Draco. "Sam and Laney left." He liked how two unrelated sentences could bring about the wrong conclusion.

"Oh, shit," said Bill. "I heard about that and totally forgot to see how you were doing with them gone. How have you been?"

Draco let a soft sneer slide onto his lips. "Fine, Bill. If you think about it I only met them three months ago really, so I'm fine."

"Well, yeah, but they're family."

A loud burst of laughter caused Draco to tense and glance at the infirmary doors.

"Yeah," he agreed distractedly. "I'll be gone a few days, don't know how many yet."

"Alright, have fun," said Bill. "Keep in touch."

A raised voice made Draco swing back to the doors at the noise. "Sure," he said, distractedly.

"And write if you need anything."

Draco forced his attention back onto Bill and he smiled. "Thanks. See you around."

He left before Bill could say anything more or before Bill could realize that he was on edge. He went straight to the carriages and once he arrived in Hogsmeade, took the Floo straight to his flat.

He had several anti-dust charms on his flat, so that it was exactly the way he left it over three months ago, perfect spotless. He enlarged his trunk in his bedroom but didn't bother to unpack. Instead he went straight to the kitchen, opening up his cupboard and staring at the few bottles of wine and whiskey he had stocked. He swore, shut the door without taking any, and then went to his study, collapsing in the chair behind his desk and staring at the wall.

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Bill had run after his family after commanding Draco to stick around before he left for home. He had easily caught up with them because his mother didn't exactly run and no one wanted to burst in before she and their dad got there, and so, grouped together as they were, they barely fit through the infirmary doors.

Poppy approached them as they came in with a smile on her face.

"He just woke up, so he may be a little bit out of it, but he should be perfectly fine."

"Thank you," said Molly, and then they were crowding around Ron's bed as the youngest boy looked up at them all, a faint furrow over his blue eyes.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" asked their mother, perching on the side of Ron's bed and cupping his cheek with her hand. "You look really pale, do you feel dizzy at all?"

The furrows deepened and Ron's eyes swept over all of them.

"Ron?" asked Arthur.

"Am I Ron? Who are you?" asked Ron. "What's going on? What happened?"

Molly gasped, her hand flying over her mouth and for a second Bill was sure that everyone's heart had just skipped a beat in horror, like his had, but then he saw that Ron's lips were fighting a smile and that his face was turning slightly red with suppressed laughter.

"You utter bastard, Ron," he said, shaking his head and laughing, and then Ron was breaking out into peals of laughter, holding his stomach as the Weasley family and additional members pretended to be more affronted than they were.

Of course, Molly did not find it funny, and she was sure to voice her disproval and frown, but she couldn't stay angry, not when he had miraculously recovered, and so it was only a few moments until she had pulled him into a tight hug. And for the first time in his seventeen years, Ron didn't try to pull away, but he held on as well.

"Look at you," said Molly, finally releasing him and looking him over with a critical eye, "you're as pale as a ghost, and all skin and bones. What have you been eating?"

"Well, nothing Mum, I've been in a coma," said Ron with a slight roll of the eyes.

Ginny pushed past Molly to give Ron a hug, and then everyone was clamoring to pull Ron into an embrace or muss up his hair or slap his back. Bill had chucked his chin, like he had when Ron was a kid.

"You did good," he said.

Ron obviously realized he was referring to telling him Draco's message and he opened his mouth, no doubt to ask about how things had gone, but then Harry and Hermione had come forward, and the friends were talking a mile a minute all about the Death Eater's capture.

It was then that Bill felt eyes on him and he turned towards the door to see Draco leaning in the doorway, completely mastering the nonchalant and unconcerned expression. He could have been in an advertisement. Draco jerked his head to the hall and Bill slipped out, knowing that he was probably still grinning like an idiot.

Draco, however, didn't mention anything about it, which should have been the first clue that something was not right, but Bill missed it. With everything in the world looking up, what could possibly go wrong?

He only half-paid attention to the conversation, not because he was eager to get away, or because he didn't care, but because it is very hard to take anything very seriously when the Order had just scored a major success, Sirius had come back from the dead, and his youngest brother had made a miraculous recovery. Not only that, but Draco was considering joining the Order which meant that Bill could finally come clean to his parents about that as well.

He did think that Draco seemed distracted, glancing to the door whenever the Weasleys were particularly loud, and he didn't have the sarcastic, witty comments that Bill was used to hearing, but he attributed it to the fact that Laney and Sam had left. Anyone would be affected by the departure of family, right?

Still, he frowned as Draco left, watching him walk down the hall before brushing his concern off. Draco was an adult now, even if he did feel that seventeen was a little young to be considered responsible. But, Draco had managed to escape the Dark Lord and pull of the greatest blow to Voldemort since the birth of Harry. He could take care of himself.

He returned to the infirmary, picking up the excited conversation of Harry.

"And that's not the best thing. What do you think Draco did?"

Oh, shit.

The entire Weasley family was listening in with rapt expressions. Bill knew that the last few days had been complete hell on their curiosity. First Bill had run in during the middle of the night carrying the unconscious son of Lucius Malfoy, and refused to tell them why. Secondly, both Dumbledore and Kingsley had consulted with Draco. Thirdly, Draco was being treated in Hogwarts, meaning that he must be in danger of some sort to not be at St. Mungo's. Fourthly, Bill had visited him as had Harry and Hermione, and this was the first time pieces of the puzzle were being put together for them.

"What did the ferret do?" asked Ron, but his voice was light, obviously not holding the same disdain for Draco as he had before. Bill remembered Draco saying that Ron had been present when the knife had been stuck through his arm. No doubt Ron had realized that Draco was truly on their side after all.

"Well, since he was the one that told you about the Veil in the first place, he was obviously planning the ambush," said Harry.

Bill wondered if he could step in and stop the story from being told on grounds that this information should be given out at an Order meeting, and not in the infirmary, but he doubted anyone would actually listen to him.

"Yeah," said Ron. "He had me tell Bill that it was the fourth night and that he needed a coin from the Museum."

All heads turned to him and Bill gave a tight smile, shrugging hopelessly.

"Did he now," said Molly.

"Yeah," said Ron. "Something about getting Voldemort's horcrux from the Veil."

"He was pulling Voldemort's horcrux from the Veil?" demanded Arthur. "He was doing this _for_ Voldemort?"

"No," said Harry. "If he had, he would have told Voldemort about the whole thing."

"But what's this about a coin?" asked Molly. Hermione hastened to explain.

"The ritual needed a coin. See, it was based on the myth that Charon, the boatman, ferries souls across the river. To get the Horcrux back, there had to be payment."

"Why was there a horcrux in the Veil in the first place?" asked Arthur.

Bill groaned and sank into a chair. This was going to be hell to explain.

"When Sirius fell through the Veil," said Harry, "it was because of Bellatrix."

"She," said Hermione, "had the locket that was Voldemort's horcrux, but she didn't realize it."

They had obviously been talking to Dumbledore because they were well informed.

"When Sirius fell," said Harry, "he managed to grab at the necklace, but it broke and so it fell through with him. Voldemort wanted to get it out and for that he needed Draco."

"Why did he need Malfoy's boy?" asked Arthur.

"Because he knew the ritual," said Hermione, neatly glazing over the fact that Draco had translated a set of runes that no one had translated in centuries. "He told Ron about the coin, who told Bill, who told Dumbledore who moved all but one coin from the museum. This way when Draco finally told Voldemort about the coin, they were only able to grab the one. On the fourth night Draco took the Death Eaters to the Veil, but the Aurors knew that they were coming, because Draco told Ron who told Bill, so they had set up an ambush."

"But the Death Eaters warded the doors, so the Aurors had a little trouble getting through," said Harry, taking up the story. "Because of that, Draco was forced to complete the ritual, but instead of pulling out the horcrux he pulled out Sirius instead."

"No!" said Ron, speaking for the rest of the shocked Weasleys.

Harry grinned, nodding like crazy. "He's fine. He's in the hospital for observation and tests, but I've seen him and he's okay. Because Wormtail was captured, he's been cleared."

"Bloody hell," said Ron.

"If Sirius was holding the horcrux, wouldn't it come out with him?" asked Arthur.

"No," said Hermione. "The horcrux is a separate soul in itself and so it needs it's own coin. That was why Draco had only one left in the museum. Voldemort thought that calling out Sirius would bring his soul out as well, but it didn't. I think that Draco didn't want to chance Voldemort getting his hands on it, which was why he called out Sirius and why he wanted only one coin."

"You're saying that Lucius Malfoy's son is in the Order?" asked Arthur.

"Not yet. Maybe later on. He doesn't exactly get along with people well," said Hermione.

Bill snorted at the understatement, but it was a bad move because everyone looked over at him again.

"You seem to have played an integral part in this whole thing," said Molly Weasley.

"Uh, yeah," said Bill. "I guess you could say that."

"But you weren't going to say anything."

"No."

"Because?"

"Because it's not my story to tell," said Bill.

"But you knew about the Malfoy boy being on our side."

"Yes."

"When did you even talk to him?"

"Last year I was his Runes Professor. He was helping me with a few projects and we got to talking."

"About Death Eaters."

"About a lot of things. He's a smart kid; he knew most of it was wrong but he was still working out a few things. I helped him."

"You converted a Malfoy?" asked George.

"Led him to the light?" asked Fred.

"Shocking."

"Startling."

"Didn't think it could be done."

"Knew it couldn't be done."

"But that's our Bill."

"Always trying to save everyone."

"Good job, mate."

"Trying for anyone in particular next?"

"Can we give you suggestions?"

"Is there a form to fill out?"

Bill gave them a look and they stepped back, mock frightened.

"The point is," he said, "it didn't feel right telling you, and I still haven't told you everything because it's Draco's business, and I doubt he wants his life to be spilled to the entire Order."

Arthur nodded. "I understand."

Pomfrey came over then to give Ron a potion and her interruption caused the conversation to once more center around Ron, where it should be, and Bill was relieved that Draco was no longer a topic. He was relieved far too early on.

"You do look rather pale," said Pomfrey. "Still, you're blood was completely renewed, so no doubt it will take you a little while to recover."

"Wait," said Hermione. "I thought you couldn't remove the blood with the Sanguis curse."

"You can't," said Pomfrey. "He was misdiagnosed. He actually had the Aeris curse, which should have killed him in a day, but because the Cruciatus inflamed his blood, the curse took longer to work."

"What clued you into the misdiagnosis?" asked Hermione.

Pomfrey frowned. "I didn't. Didn't he tell you?"

"Didn't who tell us what?"

Pomfrey put the potions she was carrying down. "Draco," she said. "He looked over the chart and figured out what it was."

"What?" asked Molly.

"He knew?" asked Arthur.

"He didn't know," said the nurse, shrugging. "He looked over the chart and re-diagnosed Ron. A second opinion if you will."

"And you listened to him?" asked Molly.

"Don't think you should sound so put out, mum," said Fred.

"Yeah, seeing as the bloke did just save ickle-Ron," said George.

"But still, he is just a boy. How did he-?"

Bill looked around to see that Hermione and Harry were looking away from the Weasley matriarch, exchanging secretive looks. They knew. Ron was becoming captivated with his blankets; he must know as well. Ginny looked as if she suspected it, because she absorbed that bit of information with raised eyebrows and a slight smile.

Charlie caught Bill's eyes, mouthing 'wow' and looking suitably impressed. Bill gave a smirk, because Draco wasn't there to give his own.

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Yay! So, yes, Ron lives. I actually planned out a bit of the third story before finishing off this story, and I need Ron for the third, so I never planned on killing him off, I just acted like it (hee-hee!).


	26. Falling

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but you already knew that, did you?

Author's note: So, it's a little later, and I didn't proof-read the last section very well (cringe), but it's up and the second last until the end. So last chapter last week, and it's not a full length chapter; it's like the last chapter of the first one. So yeah….enjoy the angst!

**Moonlight**: Thank you so much! I'm glad that your liking the story, but this chapter isn't so great with ending the suspense, so hold on one more week!  
**Critic**: Draco will join the Order. He doesn't want to, not because he doesn't believe in the cause, but because he isn't fond of the people there, but in order to teach him trust. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Meirta**: I love brownies! And yes, it is sad that Laney left and that Bill didn't notice. It will just add to the angst in this chapter.  
**Dbi626**: I can't tell you, because that would ruin the third story. But thanks for reviewing, it's good to hear from you again!  
**Anti**-**muppets**: Yes, rowan trees are amazing, and yes, poor Draco, but yay! for angst (hee-hee).  
**Lilith**: Yup! Next chapter. The second last of this story (ahh!!!). Craziness.  
**RekkaKouyuu**: Yeah, I just couldn't kill Ron. It would be mean, and he's needed in the third. I'm glad you're happy!  
And thanks to **R2D2**, **Woot**!, **bena24**, **Anna**, and **Freyalyn**

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Draco did nothing the day before his legal disownment. That is not to say that he purposefully took it easy, or that he had nothing to do, but he couldn't concentrate. He tried to absorb himself in the Runes, trying to get to the first dialect, but after staring blankly at the parchment covered walls, he realized that he hadn't even managed to copy over the second dialect properly and that his handwriting was slanted.

He left his study, closing the door behind him and walking over to his keyboard, but he couldn't even begin to form the simplest of melodies, not even with an abundance of arpeggios and he couldn't make sense of the music books he did have. The notes blended together, he couldn't keep track of all the sharps, and he kept playing the melody with his left hand instead of his right.

He ended up sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall trying not to think about why he was so distracted. He was glad when night fell and he had an excuse to do nothing, but the darkness and the silence were even worse than his distraction. He got up because he hadn't really eaten all day, and made himself a sandwich. Afterwards he sat in his small kitchen, studying the meal and picking at it before putting it back into the refrigerator. He fell asleep around four.

The morning was easier to deal with. Draco had slept in a bit and the rest had helped him more than he cared to admit. He then made a quick breakfast of eggs and toast and actually ate them because he was not going to arrive for the disownment looking pale and unkempt. He was not going to let Lucius Malfoy see that he was in the least bit affected by the disownment.

He showered and dressed, although he did take the time to memorize the signum on his back. It wasn't necessary, because he had a perfect memory, but what he wanted to memorize was the feel of it, the faint brushes of movement along his spine, the soothing, softest whispers in the back of his mind. That was the land he had once been heir too. Now it was forfeit and would be stripped away from him.

He dressed impeccably in neatly pressed black trousers and a white oxford with the thinnest of pale grey pinstripes on it. He didn't bother getting into the charcoal dress robes hanging in his closet just yet, but passed the rest of the morning reading the newspapers for that day and the days he had missed while in the hospital. He wanted to be current on the events taking place and he took comfort in the fact that he had initiated the ambush that had caused so much damage to the Pureblood Death Eaters. He was walking to his disownment, not as a wayward son, but as a boy who was powerful even without the Malfoy family.

The time passed much too quickly, and before Draco knew it, he was sliding on his dress robes, making sure his shoes were polished and checking his hair one last time in the mirror. He then stepped through the Floo and arrived in the Atrium of the Ministry.

It was past the lunch hour, but the lobby was still busy. The Ministry usually was and Draco could attest to that as he had been there quite often on business with his father.

The Bureau of Legal Affairs, subcategory Wills, Testaments, and Family Repute was found on level five with the Department of International Cooperation and so after checking in, Draco took a lift to the fifth level, stepping out along with a few other wizards who obviously worked there because they breezed right past reception and into the office hallway.

"And who are you?" demanded the witch at the desk. She was older, with frizzy brown hair pulled back in a severe bun. She was looking over her glasses at him and the red of her lipstick only annunciated the fact that they were pencil thin.

"Draco Malfoy. I'm here-,"

"He's with me, Regina," said a man appearing from a hallway leading to the right. "When Lucius Malfoy gets here just send him into my office."

Regina made an affirmative noise from behind her closed thin lips.

"I'm Edward Thurston," said the man, who looked to be in his early forties. He still had all of his dark hair though, and it wasn't even beginning to grey. He didn't hold his hand out to Draco, but rather jerked his head towards the hall. "My office is this way."

Draco followed him, knowing from the man's tone of voice that Thurston was one of those men who weren't swayed by money or power and so was not impressed or in awe of the Malfoy name. He was probably one of those men who didn't like Lucius as well which meant that the dislike rubbed off onto Draco as well.

Thurston's office was brightly lit and boasted several colorful, scribbled paintings. Draco determined from the blue stick figures that were the main focus in several of the pictures that Thurston had a wife and two daughters. In one of the pictures the tall stick figure with long hair was looking quite round. His wife was going to have another child.

"Your father isn't here right now," said Thurston. "You can have a seat while we wait."

Of course Lucius wasn't there. It was just another insult on top of the injury. Lucius was showing just how much he did not care for his son by being late to the very disinheritment he had scheduled.

Draco took a seat in one of the matching armchairs while Thurston sat behind his desk, filling out a few parchments. Draco could feel Thurston's gaze on him every now and then but he was determinedly looking away. He realized that his fingers were tapping out their pattern and he forced his fingers to still and let out a silent breath. No sooner had he managed to calm himself, the door opened.

"Mr. Lucius Malfoy," said Regina, and then Lucius was there, sweeping into the room in his fine emerald robes, one hand closed around his mahogany cane, the one with the silver-snake tip and ruby eyes. Regina shut the door behind Lucius with a bang and then Thurston was getting up and turning a few parchments to face Lucius.

"Mr. Malfoy, I need you to sign these."

"Of course," said Lucius, who had yet to look at Draco.

Draco stood, not wanting Lucius to be able to look down on him. When he was standing, they were roughly the same height.

Lucius read the papers before signing them, but when he did put his quill to the page, he signed them with an attitude of indifference and then he turned to Draco, his grey eyes lighting on his son without a flicker of remorse or even recognition.

"This isn't going to take very long, I hope. I have other matters of business to attend to," he said, speaking in his cold drawl with his eyes still on Draco.

Draco couldn't keep his gaze, didn't even try. As soon as his father's eyes had locked onto him, his own gaze was turned to Thurston.

"It shouldn't," said Thurston mildly. "If you will come this way, I have everything already set up."

He led them to an adjoining room, one that was vaguely reminiscent of a private examining room in St. Mungo's. The floor and walls were white and there was a cabinet in the corner holding a variety of potions and instruments. There was also a stool in front of a small, but sturdy table with a few other chairs along the wall.

"Draco, if you would remove your robes and shirt, we will get started."

Draco nodded, unfastening his robes and tossing them over the arm of one of the chairs. His shirt followed and then Thurston gestured at the stool. Draco took a seat, leaning forward on the table as Thurston studied his signum.

"This is one of the more permanent ones," said Thurston, running his fingers over the ink. Draco tensed at the touch. "You can tell because this is actual blood-ink and no spell will actually remove the signum. We can 'kill' the tattoo in a sense, disconnect the magic," said Thurston. No doubt the explanation was necessary for a few patients, but Draco was a genius and Lucius was versed in all things relating to dark magic.

"I will also be including a mark on the signum," said Lucius.

Thurston looked up. "That is in your right. Normally, I wouldn't object, but I feel, as a licensed Healer, that doing so is completely unnecessary. The blood ink in the signum will corrode when the tie is broken and it will turn black and fall silent. That is enough."

"The heritage laws protect my right as patriarch," said Lucius, voice cold.

"Marking his signum will mean scarring half of his back," Thurston tired to argue. "It's inhumane."

"I am more than willing to settle this matter in the courts," said Lucius. "And I guarantee you, they will find the verdict in my favor and I will demand your livelihood in exchange for this inconvenience. I have the right to mark what is no longer my own, and I assure you, it shall be done!" The last few words rang out in the small room.

Draco flinched at the raised voice. His father had never lost his temper. Even when he was at his angriest, he had never yelled, this was…a small comfort. Lucius wouldn't be so upset unless he didn't want to hurt Draco, unless actually marking him hadn't been his idea, would he?

"Very well," said Thurston. He crossed to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of green liquid and poured a few sips into a disposable cup; a pain-reliever. He handed it to Draco. "Drink this and we'll get started."

Draco reached for the cup without a thought, which meant that he reached for it with his left hand. Thurston pulled away the cup and caught his wrist, staring at the snake-like wound on Draco's arm. It was still healing, so the snake was a dark red of dried blood and on both sides of his arm, accompanied with still fading bruises. That was a testament to the severity of the wound; the location of the injury was a testimony to what the punishment was for.

Thurston stared at the wound before handing the cup to Draco and releasing his arm.

"You know," he said, almost conversationally, "if you wish to testify to maltreatment in your home, I'm sure the lawyers would settle the case outside of court. You could prevent your signum from being marked."

Draco's eyes flickered to Lucius who was staring at Thurston with a very ugly expression on his face. If Lucius looked this murderous at the insinuation of being the cause of the knife through his arm, Draco wondered what he would have don't if Thurston had outright suggested it. Lucius turned, his eyes fastening on Draco's.

Draco stared at his father, reading nothing in the gaze but the warning that Draco shouldn't dare to group Lucius with Narcissa. Draco shook his head, glancing down at the table; he would never compare his father to his mother. He looked back up at Lucius, even as he spoke to Thurston.

"There is no case for maltreatment against Lucius Malfoy," he said evenly. He looked down at the cup in his hand and then down the liquid. He downed it and set the cup aside, turning to Thurston. "You can proceed."

"Very well then," said Thurston. "Lean forward just a bit; this may cause…_will_ cause some discomfort."

Draco leaned onto the table, bowing his head so that no one could see his expression.

"Lucius," said Thurston.

Lucius stepped behind Draco and then the tip of his wand was placed on the top of Draco's spine, pressing down slightly.

"Dimettere mea viscus," he intoned, and Draco automatically translated the Latin in his head. _I renounce my flesh_.

Ice spread from his wand, down Draco spine. It latched onto the edges of the ink and then spreading over the snake and sword, branching out to grab the trees as well. It was bitterly cold and it caused Draco to fight back a shiver and then Lucius was speaking again.

"Dimettere mea cognatus." _I renounce my blood_.

This was fire spreading down from the wand, following the same path the ice took, but burning instead of freezing and Draco clenched his teeth, grabbing onto the table as the fire slowly subsided.

"Dimettere mea filius. Mea filius exanima." _I renounce my son. My son is dead_.

Draco jerked forward at the sudden pain. It felt as if someone was taking a knife and carving out every line of the tattoo, until all that was left was bloody gauges. He clenched his fists, sucking in a breath through his teeth and clenching his jaw even tighter. He was not going to make a sound; he was not going to make a sound….

Lucius stepped back and Draco could feel his back stiffen, as if the ink was constricting, shriveling up his skin until his flesh was pulled too tightly across his shoulders. It was then that he noticed the faint brush in the back of his mind slowly fading away. The comforting whisper was replaced with a throbbing and an over-whelming silence. He gasped.

"You alright, Draco?" asked Thurston. "We can wait a few minutes until marking the signum if you want."

Draco knew that the scarlet ink on his back had turned coal black, and the movement would have stopped. He was officially disowned now and the thought, and the pain, was overwhelming, but he shook his head. He didn't want to drag this out.

"I'm fine," he managed.

"Alright. I'm going to put a disinfectant on your back now, and a localized pain reliever. This might sting a little when it comes in contact with the tattoo."

Draco jerked his head in a nod. Thurston got out another bottle and poured the liquid on a clean cloth. The liquid was then spread over Draco's back and he flinched when it was smeared over the signum lines because it stung worse than alcohol on an open wound.

Draco could hear Lucius stepping forward again and he braced himself as Lucius' wand was placed near the top of his left shoulder.

"Stigmatais," said Lucius, dragging his wand down in a diagonal line until it reached directly below his right shoulder blade.

Draco clamped his mouth shut on a groan, but he sure part of it must have slipped out because Thurston took a step forward, but then thought better of interfering. The curse was a brand, was, in effect, nothing more than a hot poker being dragged across his shoulders and he could feel the blisters forming, the skin on his back burning, and the localized pain reliever really didn't do all that much.

His father's wand was then placed on the opposite shoulder and Draco flinched even though the curse had yet to be spoken. As if afraid he would jerk away, Lucius reached out, placing a hand on the back of his neck, holding his head down and still as he incited the curse and once gain dragged his wand down so that the signum on Draco's back, already blackened and silent, was further marred by an 'X' of seared flesh.

Draco was left breathing heavily, leaning over the table and trembling as he tried to push back the pain and push back the feeling that he had just been uprooted and cut off. His father's hand lingered on the back of his neck for a moment longer than what was necessary, but Draco was too worn to even try to decipher the meaning.

"I'll walk you to the door," said Thurston.

Draco looked up as his father turned to leave and Lucius' gaze locked on his for a split second. Draco wondered how he looked. Adequately haggard and punished or merely just another wizard, no longer of any consequence? His father's eyes were cool, and then Lucius was walking out into the office and Thurston shut the door behind them.

Draco wondered what other people had done in his position. Had they broken down in sobs? Had they stumbled to their feet, screaming at the emptiness inside because they had just been cut off of the family magic? Had they stared blankly at the wall like Draco was doing now, not exactly sure what to do?

It was of no matter. Draco had been disowned, but he was retaining the Malfoy name. He had never been more grateful for inheriting his father's looks as he was right now. Yes, so he was disowned, but no one could ever mistake him for anything less than Lucius Malfoy's son. The thought was strangely comforting and he got up, crossing over to his clothes and attempting to put his shirt back on. It took him three tries until he managed to fight back the pain enough to put the shirt on, and even the light brush of cotton was unbearable.

Thurston opened the door again, looking surprised to see him getting dressed.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Draco gave him a cold look; what did he expect? Thurston gave a rueful smile.

"If you wait a few more minutes, I'm having the Floo set up in my office so you won't have to go all the way back down to the lobby. It's usually best to go straight home after something like this. Do you have anyone you would like to pick you up?"

For a split second Draco considered having Thurston call for one Bill Weasley, but he shook his head. He didn't want to bother Bill; at least, that's what he told himself. The truth was though, if Bill was there, Draco would be forced to deal with what just happened, be forced to tell Bill how he felt, what his emotions were. Draco didn't know if he could handle that. He just wanted to push it out of his mind, to forget about it. For that, he needed to be alone.

Thurston went to the cabinets, pouring a cup of pain-reliever, a cup of calming potion, and then reaching into the back and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. He poured a cup of that as well and then set them in front of Draco.

"Choose your poison," he remarked dryly.

Perhaps it was because alcoholism does have a genetic factor, or perhaps it was because Draco just really wanted to get drunk at that moment, but he picked up the whiskey and tossed it back, not even coughing at the burn.

Thurston regarded him with a serious expression and then handed him a piece of parchment. "These are some guidelines to follow. Signums are generally not used because of the psychological trauma that can result when the patient is cut off suddenly from a source of magic to which he or she has been connected to since birth. It's best if you have someone stay with you for the next few days, or if you at the very least have visitors or contact with people you can talk to. If at any time you feel depressed or you feel as if you might be a danger to yourself, there are professionals at St. Mungo's you can talk to."

Draco frowned. Was he actually serious?

The fireplace in the office flared up and Draco stood, picking up his robes and following Thurston into the other room. Thurston looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he settled for nodding good-day. Draco returned it and stepped through into his own flat.

The first thing Draco did was to pull off his shirt because he couldn't take the chafing anymore. He then went into his bedroom and rummaged around in his trunk for the few potions he had. He found a pain-reliever and downed it.

He walked into the kitchen and slumped into one of the chairs at the table, leaning forward so he wouldn't press against his back. He stared at the wall, and then, without consciously thinking about it, got up, walked over to his cabinet and pulled out a bottle of brandy. He then fumbled for a tumbler and sloshed some of the alcohol into the cup. He didn't put the brandy away but wandered into his living room where his shirt was still thrown over the couch and where the parchment holding the guidelines was lying discarded on the floor.

He bent down and picked it up, wincing at the pull on his back that was now only throbbing and not burning intensely. He walked back into the kitchen where it was easier to sit without leaning back and again took a seat at the table. He read over the paper as he sipped at the brandy.

It was the usual precautions. Do not take more than two vials of pain-relieving potion in the space of four hours. Do not mix the potions with large amounts of alcohol. When encountering the feeling of displacement or loneliness or emptiness, seek support from family and friends. If the pain persists for more than two weeks, contact your Healer. If at anytime you feel as if you may harm yourself or others, seek attention at St. Mungo's.

Draco tossed the parchment aside, noting that the brandy in his glass was gone. It really was too bad because he could really use some more, but he was not going to become an addict like his mother was.

Instead he lay down in the living room on his stomach and tried to sleep, or do something that would block out the stifling silence in the back of his head. It was painful, the absence of the magic, like a migraine, but he couldn't pinpoint the source of the pain. One moment, it was pounding in the back of his skull, the next it was shooting through his temples, and another it was spiking right through the center.

He knew that another pain-potion wouldn't make it stop; it would only dilute the pressure so that it was even harder to locate, and so he stumbled to his feet and back into the kitchen. He pulled out every bottle of alcohol he had and then stared at them, wondering if the red wine or the whiskey or the brandy would be better at blocking out the pain and confusion in his head.

Remembering a vial of calming potion in his truck, he made his way to his bed room and rummaged through his trunk again. He had, not only a calming potion, but also a few other pain-relievers, an anti-fever draught, and a few sleep aides that he used in cases of emergencies when his insomnia got out of control. He also had two-wakefulness inducers for when he had taken the sleep aides but wasn't able to stay in bed for the full eight hours.

He brought all of them back to the kitchen and piled them with the alcohol. He immediately spotted the combination, the one that was guaranteed to block the pain he was feeling. He stared at it and then left the room, locking himself in his study, telling himself it would never come to that.

For five hours he attempted to block out the thought of the potions on his kitchen table; for five hours he worked furiously on the Persian Runes. His mind was in over-drive, trying to block out the silence of the dead signum on his back and to ignore the pounding in his head that was turning into a migraine.

He was fine until the pain-potions wore off and he had to make his way back into the kitchen to find some relief. He was fine until the emptiness hit him with the force of a runaway hippogriff. He was staring at the potions on the table, remembering a time when Lucius spent night and day with him, bringing him off the drugs his mother had hooked on him. He was staring at the potions, remembering Bill talking about how when he was sick his mother would feed him soup and read him stores. He was fine until he looked around and realized that he was very much alone in his flat and that he had to put some burn ointment on his back sooner or later, but he had no one to help him and he couldn't reach by himself.

His kitchen suddenly morphed into the stone room with the Veil, and he was standing all alone by the curtain, the door locked at the top of the stairs. So many people had gone on before him through the Veil, but he had hesitated and now he was trapped in the room with no one else, just him and his thoughts, and the knowledge that with no one else, with nothing else, his genius would drive him insane within the first week.

He blinked and his vision cleared, and he was once again in his kitchen, but he was sweating and his hands were shaking. There were a few moments when he swore he felt something brush against the back of his mind, but when he tried to connect, when he tried to search for it, all he came up with was a large, dark void.

He grabbed at the wakefulness-inducing potion, pouring it into a cup and then adding a good amount of red-wine to it. He pulled open his pantry doors to find the bottle Muggle aspirin, which he ground with a spell and then added to the cup. He mixed it together and then let it stand.

He pulled out a pot and set it on the stove. He poured in a cup of water, a sleep-aid, and then a good amount of whiskey and a dash of the brandy. He set the burner on high and then watched as the mixture was slowly brought to a boil.

The steam rose off the pot in columns and Draco knew this was a bad idea. How many times had he promised himself that he would never end up like his mother? How many times had he resisted in the past?

Yet still, he watched the liquid in the pot boil down until there was just a thick, silver substance in the bottom of the pot. He turned off the stove and then let the liquid cool. He told himself that he shouldn't do this even as he added the red-wine mixture to the pot, even as he stirred clockwise four times and then rinsed out an empty vial.

He stared at the vial for a long time before gritting his teeth in frustration and walking back to his study. Before he made it into the room he was coming back, knowing he was just damning himself, but right now he didn't care. All he wanted was for the pain to go away, to be able to forget that there was a hole somewhere in his mind, that he was cut off, that he was dead to his father.

He wanted to forget that the Dark Lord had marked him, that his father had marked him, and that Laney and Sam had as well in their own way. He had softened; he had changed because of them, and now they were gone as well, leaving him displaced yet again.

He wanted to forget that he would be joining the Order, that he would align himself with people who hated his father and so who hated him, who had been humiliated by him, and who had humiliated him in turn over the years. He wanted to forget that although he had more money than they could earn in ten lifetimes, they had been the ones to experience a happy childhood with siblings who played with them, and a mother who cooked them meals and taught them to read and a father who wasn't afraid to show that he cared for them. He wanted to forget that although he was smarter than any three of them put together, he still had no idea what love was and the notion still scared the shit out of him. He wanted to forget that the idea of joining a group like that scared him.

And so he picked up the vial and filled it with the purple and silver swirled liquid and he downed it. It wasn't top grade Angel Flight, because for that he would need the finest grade dragon claw powder, not aspirin, and he would need a vintage wine from the 1800s and not a new bottle, but it was good enough.

He blinked as the potion took hold, feeling it wrap around his mind and then lift, and it was as if all of his problems no longer mattered. It was a feeling of euphoria, that he could do anything he wanted, that, in the grand scheme of things, all that really counted was how he felt, and right now, he felt good. No, he felt better than good. He knew right then, nothing was the matter, or ever would be.

He staggered into the living room and collapsed face first on the couch. He stared at the wall as the hallucinogenic properties of the potion took hold. Some people saw colors, some saw shapes. People with a higher level intelligence saw animals and actual objects. Draco saw formulas. Not the actual numbers, but shapes folded in on themselves and contorted. He saw the formulas to right triangles and angles and then as the kaleidoscope turned again, he saw rectangles and circles. He saw pi in his head, dividing through and through, past the hundredth digit and continuing. He saw light reflecting off a prism and he saw the wavelengths of the different colors of light, and he saw electrons shooting around atoms. And as he watched, the rest of the night passed by.

Somewhere in the morning he saw Shakespeare's sonnets in picture form with the words inscribed inside the paintings and that was followed by the sound of Tchaikovsky's Suite number one in D minor, but it was being transposed into A even as heard it. That was followed by a headache.

Draco pushed himself up off the couch, knowing that he was still high, but he would be sobering up in two hours or so. Even now, the desire to go finish off the batch of the drug was strong. He probably had enough in the kitchen to keep him high for five days at least, and the thought was more enticing than he would have liked.

He had to physically hold onto the couch because he was suddenly afraid that he would run in and down another vial full. He nearly ran in anyway because his head was beginning to throb and because the vision of colored lights representing Mozart's seventh piano concerto was fading. As the vision was fading, he lost the feeling that everything no longer mattered and he was once again over powered by a sense of displacement and emptiness.

He slid to the floor, burying his head in his hands as he tried to fight back the migraine, the call of the illegal drug, and the pain on his back and his arm and the pain that was purely psychological. He knew then that he couldn't fight them all at the same time and he doubted as if he could even one at a time. Draco knew what would happen next. He would stumble back into the kitchen and he would take another dose of Angel Flight. He might even wash it down with a glass of wine.

That thought was frightening and Draco did not want it to become truth. He would force himself to ask for help before he lost himself to the drugs entirely. He wasn't going to let himself slip away like that, not when it might be prevented.

Draco pulled himself to his feet, finding a sheet of paper and a quill on his keyboard stand. He scrawled off a quick message, folded the parchment over and wrote Bill Weasley on the front. He tossed it through the Floo to the post office. He had an account there, and they would send it on.

While he waited, he sank back on the floor, his elbows on his legs, his head in his hands. He ran through formulas and runes and orchestral movements, blocking out the thought of the potion, holding onto one thought, that Bill would be there soon and then it wouldn't be so hard.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ron was released two days after he woke up.

While they waited to bring him home, the entire Weasley family, along with Harry and Hermione, camped out in the infirmary. Sirius joined them the day after Ron woke up having just been released from St. Mungo's.

To celebrate his return, the Order threw an impromptu party which they held in the Hogwarts infirmary because Ron still wasn't allowed out of bed, something which he was finding very trying indeed.

The party consisted of cake, butterbeer, card games, streamers, hats, and a lot of laughter. Everyone also took turns trying to guess the baby name that Fleur and Bill had picked out for their child, but the truth was, they still hadn't decided. However, because Molly Weasley was determined that they should know at least three months in advance, they had told her that they indeed had a name picked out, well two because they didn't know if it was a boy or a girl, but that they weren't saying anything so that no one could critique it and make them change their minds. Molly was satisfied with that and Bill and Fleur were sure that when the right name came along, they would know it. After all, Fleur wasn't named until she was a week old. They weren't exactly in a hurry.

The Order members also delighted in reading the several newspaper articles about Sirius' undeserved imprisonment. The newspaper reporters loved a story like this and they made Sirius out to be quite the victim. Sirius was receiving several dozen letters a day from women who found him to be roguishly attractive to writers hoping Sirius would let them write his autobiography.

"I'm not even dead yet," Sirius would remark to these. "They'll just have to write a whole 'nother book once I'm gone."

"I think that's point," said Hermione, when she finally overheard this comment. "Twice the money that way."

Sirius looked thoughtful. "Well, once you put it that way," he said, "maybe I should make a series of books. Seven books for each of my years at Hogwarts, another two for Lily and James, four during my prison years, and five afterwards."

Those around him had laughed and Snape made a snide comment about each book being two pages each and nothing important in any of them. Sirius had snapped right back. He obviously hadn't lost any of his animosity towards Severus and it was the one downfall of the evening. Bill wished that Draco had been there because he got along with Severus, and he had also saved Sirius' life, so perhaps some form of truce could have been involved, but Draco was away.

Bill hoped he wasn't over taxing himself as well. If anyone had ever deserved a vacation, it was Draco. Well, Snape could use one too right now. Voldemort was incensed at the ambush and at the losses he had sustained and he was taking his anger out on the Death Eaters. Bill knew that if Sirius or Moody or any of the other members that didn't get along with Snape, could see the spy when he came back from a meeting, they wouldn't be quite so cold to him. It was hard to bear a grudge when the man comes back tortured and exhausted and trembling time after time.

Dumbledore was worried too, but he was glad to see Sirius back above all and so he did little to heal the rift. Bill understood that perhaps now was not the best time for it, but still, seeing Severus forced to attend the gala, only to spend it in a corner watching the going-ons with a detached air was not exactly contributing to the festive spirit.

Ginny, however, seemed to note that as well, and to Bill's surprise, walked straight over to the Potion's Master and offered him a cup of tea.

"Is it Earl Grey?" asked Snape, eyeing the girl with slight derision.

"Mandarin Spice," said Ginny.

Snape muttered something about 'it will have to do', but took the cup. Ginny sat herself down right next to the professor, ignoring his baleful stare and merely giving the smile she had used to win over so many people before.

"So," she said, "I was trying to read ahead in the potion's book to get a head start on my studies-"

"Is your last name Granger?" asked Snape.

"It's rude to interrupt," said Ginny, "and I was actually reading ahead because I wanted to know how to make a bonding potion, for one of Fred and George's new experiments, and I was wondering, that guy, what's his name? The one that starts with an 'A' and he came up with the blue potion, the one with the lot of smoke-"

"Aston."

"That's the one," said Ginny. "Anyway, the book says that he's innovative, but he's not exactly smart, is he? I mean, I was looking at the work that he's done, and all he really does is take completed potions and finds different uses for them by switching a minor ingredient."

"Perhaps," said Snape. "But before he took out the one ingredient of the skele-grow to make skele-mend, wizards only used spells to fix broken bones when the potion is much more helpful to hospitals."

"I suppose," said Ginny, "but he doesn't come up with anything on his own."

"And so you have decided that only inventors can be labeled 'smart'? That's quite a decisive declaration for one with no experience or credentials."

"No, I just don't see why he's so big in the potion's world if he only improves potions and never theorizes on his own. There has to be some level of personal thought and theory, doesn't there?"

And Snape was launched in a conversation with Ginny and Bill wandered over to sit with Fleur and hold her hand.

The day Ron was released was hectic as Harry, Hermione, and Ginny had to pack their things as well because they were still living in the castle while Ron recovered. Because the Floo still wasn't up, it involved a lot of carriage trips and tightened security as they Flooed to the Order.

Then, once they arrived, the children had to unpack and the rest of the Weasley family moved back in as well from their temporary station at the Hogwarts infirmary. Too make matters worse, although the Order Headquarters was looking a lot cleaner (it had been completely re-furbished over the summer), Mrs. Black's portrait was still on the wall and this time when she started screaming, the curtain rod fell down. It took an hour until the curtains were closed and she finally fell silent.

It was still quite fun though. Fred and George wouldn't stop playing tricks on the unsuspecting movers, although when Ron fell victim to a trick step just like the one at Hogwarts, Mrs. Weasley came down on them hard. After all, Ron did nearly die just a few days ago, and while he claimed he was feeling alright, his face was pale after the move and he didn't object to being confined to the sofa with a mug of tea and a blanket.

The mood after that was somewhat subdued because the thought of Ron dying was sobering. What was even more sobering, or at least, more sobering to the Weasley parents, was that they owned the life of their son to the son of their greatest enemy, the man who had nearly killed their daughter.

Bill wondered if Draco knew that his father was responsible for nearly getting Ginny killed, and for having the Chamber of Secrets opened. Severus had said that Draco genuinely had no idea about the diary horcrux and Bill hoped that Draco never found out. The kid was confused enough when it came to his father, and although Bill was loathed to admit it, when it came to Lucius' behavior to Draco, he was confused as well.

The Order meeting that night was held around the dinner table. All of the kids were of age, besides Ginny, and the general consensus was that she was bound to find out anyway, so she might as well hear it with the rest of them.

Ginny was quite pleased with that arrangement, although Ron objected somewhat. After his parents being so adamant that he only be involved in the Order when he was of age, it seemed unfair that Ginny was included when she wasn't even sixteen and a half yet. Ginny made sure to flaunt it in his face.

Bill found that he liked the over-dinner Order meetings. To be sure, sometimes it was hard to take things as seriously as they should have been, and sometimes the children got a little noisy when the topics turned boring, but it was much less of a grim, already-defeated atmosphere.

"So there are ten guaranteed convictions of the nineteen Death Eaters, another three that are pretty certain, and two that could go either way and four that will be released because their lawyers are that good," said Kingsley. "Over all, not bad considering."

"Considering," snorted Moody. "Considering what? Considering that we are working with a flawed system. We ought to send them straight to Azkaban without a trial."

"Because that worked so well with Sirius," said Ginny. "No offence, Sirius."

"None taken."

"That's different," said Moody. "He was actually innocent. None of the Death Eaters are."

"But the legal system has to be maintained otherwise there is no basis for justice and the law becomes a tool for one person's revenge," said Ginny. "If it's flaw, we should fix it, but even a flawed system that let's out a few guilty men is better than a system that can be used to imprison the innocent as well."

She had to refrain herself from continuing her rant and then she blushed. "Sorry," she said, as she realized she had just been lecturing a group of adults twice her age, but Dumbledore smiled.

"No need to apologize, Ginevra. It is good to see our young people taking such an interest in our political system. Now then, to the next topic, Bill, perhaps you can answer this. Was Draco Malfoy planning on joining the Order anytime soon?"

"He did express a desire to, but then Sam and Laney left so he's visiting them for a while," said Bill.

Dumbledore frowned. "I just spoke with Sam this morning. She didn't mention that Draco was over."

Bill put his fork down. "Draco said that he was-," he stopped himself and forced himself to take a deep breath when he realized that Draco had never told Bill he was visiting, just like he never said he would personally use the portkey. "Draco actually said that Sam and Laney left and that he had a 'family thing' to attend."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, catching the technicality.

Bill sighed and silently mused that looking after the Slytherin was going to give him grey hair. He then wondered what it was Draco was doing. The only other family he had was…but he wouldn't be doing anything with Lucius, would he? The thought was frightening; he would check in on the boy tomorrow.

"Well, then," said Dumbledore. "If you do figure out where he went, or if he contacts you, let us know when he is ready to join. We look forward to having him with us. And give him this."

Dumbledore handed over a piece of paper with the Order address on it.

"You aren't serious," said Moody. "Lucius' boy? On the Order?"

"Of course," said Dumbledore. "He will be quite beneficial."

Several looks were exchanged over the table, but Dumbledore went on to make a few more announcements. Bill tried to pay attention but more worries about Draco came to mind. What on earth was he doing with his family? Was meeting Lucius for something? Was he speaking with his mother in hopes for information?

Bill did not like the idea of Draco being in contact with his family because it simply wasn't safe. Lucius had allowed his son to be tortured by Voldemort, and there was no telling what else he would do for the sake of Pureblood beliefs and for the Dark Lord.

Bill and Fleur both went home for the night, but Bill found it difficult to actually sleep. He spent the night gazing at his wife and trying to push away the cold fear that was rising in his chest. In the early hours of the morning, he finally drifted off, but he was up again at seven. The Order usually met for breakfast together, not really to discuss business, but just because they genuinely liked each others company. Bill would go to see if Dumbledore had any news and then he was going over to Draco's flat. Something wasn't right. It sounded cliché, but he really could feel it.

Dumbledore had no news about Draco though, but he had spoken to Sam and Draco definitely wasn't in the States. Bill was bolting his breakfast, just wanting to find Draco and see if he was alright when Kingsley arrived, bringing with him the Daily Prophet. Everyone immediately stopped eating when they saw his grim expression.

"I know where Draco's been," he said, and set the paper down in front of Bill.

Bill picked up the paper and read the headline out loud, the cold in his chest returning at the words, "Lucius Malfoy Disowns Only Child." He tossed the paper aside. "Shit."

"So that's his family thing?" asked Arthur. "His father disowned him?"

"Apparently," said Bill, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why hadn't Draco told him?

"It gets worse," said Kingsley. "He has a signum."

Dumbledore set down his cup of tea, his expression apprehensive.

"Did it say anything else?"

"Just that the disownment was announced at the end of last spring and became official yesterday. His signum was deactivated and then marked."

"None of you knew?"

Everyone turned to look at Sirius, surprised that he was interested.

Sirius looked down at his mug of coffee, obviously remembering something.

"I've been disowned," he said, his gaze darkening at the memory. "My signum was marked."

"What happened?" asked Bill.

"I wasn't exactly a model Black so they kicked me out. A year later the paper work finally went through."

Everyone turned as the Floo burst into life and Fleur stepped out, still in her dressing gown.

"Fleur, what's wrong?" Bill asked, crossing over to his wife.

"You got this," she said, handing him a piece of paper.

Bill recognized the handwriting, but he had never seen it so disconnected before. He flipped it open with dread scanning the message.

_Bill – _

_I think I screwed up._

"Shit. I've got to go," said Bill. He gave Fleur a kiss on the cheek and grabbed his wand off the table.

"Is he alright?" asked Sirius and he actually sounded concerned.

"I don't know," said Bill. "What did you do when you had your signum removed?"

"Got completely wasted," said Sirius.

"That's what I was afraid of," said Bill. He threw on Floo and called out the Leakey Cauldron. Draco's Floo was warded; he would have to walk there.

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One more to go. Please review!!!!!


	27. Going Home

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Though, I'll admit it, I wish I did.

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Bill arrived at Draco's flat and knocked on the door.

"Draco, are you in there?" he called through the wood.

He couldn't hear anything and for a second he was afraid that Draco wasn't even there, but then he heard the sound of footsteps and the bolt was pulled. Bill waited for the door to open, but it remained shut.

"Draco?" he called, even more worried than he had been before, which was saying something.

He turned the door knob and pushed open the door. It was morning, but the apartment was dim, the heavy drapes shutting out the sun and leaving the room in shadow. He could see Draco sitting by the couch, not looking up at him.

Bill entered all the way, shutting the door behind him. He came in a few steps, noting that there was a shirt and robe slung over the couch and that a few pieces of parchment had fallen around the keyboard. He looked back at Draco who was only wearing a pair of black trousers and socks.

"Draco?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

Draco said something, and at first he thought it was nonsense words, which scared him, but then he realized it was French. The English equivalent was 'I f---ed up.'

"That's what your letter said. Do you feel like expanding?"

Draco looked up to meet his gaze and Bill took in the wildly mussed hair, the flushed cheeks, and the glazed expression.

"Shit," he said, knowing exactly what had happened. He had only seen Lord Draco once, but he remembered how the Boggart had looked.

Draco laughed, but it was hollow. "The rest of it is in the kitchen. Would you mind throwing it out for me? I would but I think I just might end up taking it."

"Yeah," said Bill. He crossed into the kitchen staring at the assortment of alcohol on the table and then noticing the pot on the counter that held more of the purple and silver liquid.

He picked up the pot and dumped the contents into the sink and then rinsed out the pan, making sure that all the liquid was down the drain. On a second thought he dumped out all the alcohol too, rinsing out those bottles as well.

Draco was still sitting by the couch when he came back, leaning forward, his hands fisted in his hair.

"You alright?' asked Bill.

"Been better," said Draco.

"Where was your signum?" asked Bill. He already figured it was on Draco's back, because most were and because Draco didn't have a shirt on, but he wanted Draco to show him.

Draco turned slightly and Bill felt sick. There was a large, black tattoo centered between Draco's shoulders, sweeping across the majority of his upper back. The signum was artistic and almost pleasing to look at, but the lines were coal black, ugly against the pale skin and there was a large 'X' through the center of it, an 'X' made from burnt skin.

"Do you have a first aid kit?"

"Bathroom."

Bill went to the bathroom, pulling open the mirror cabinet and finding a burn salve. He found a roll of gauze as well and brought those out along with some medical tape.

"Turn around so I can reach your back," he said.

Draco did and Bill spread the salve on the burns, noticing the way Draco was tensed, refusing to let himself flinch. Once he was finished he taped strips of gauze over the burns.

"Thanks," said Draco quietly. He reached for his shirt and pulled it on, but had difficulty with the buttons.

"Are you still high?" asked Bill.

Draco laughed again. "Mozart composes the majority of his songs in blue circles, so yes, I'm still high." Draco frowned slightly. "That actually makes a lot of sense to me."

"I'm sure it does," said Bill. His tone was flat and unimpressed. Draco looked up at him, startled.

"You're mad at me," he said. "What did I do? Was it this?" He gestured to himself, no doubt referencing his incapacitated mind. "I didn't mean too, I swear, I just…," he trailed off and then turned angry. "It's not exactly as if I purposefully decided to get high just for the fun of it. It _hurt_, and it wouldn't stop being quiet and there was just…nothing where it was supposed to be, and I had to shut it up somehow. Or maybe I had to make it talk. No, I was just trying to forget. Trying to forget it all, so I made something to help."

His anger had trailed off during his aside to himself and now it came back. "It's not like I wanted this! I didn't ask to be an addict, because I'm not. I'm not an addict, just sometimes I slip and I can't help it. And I didn't mean to, alright? I didn't mean to!"

He was getting upset, but unlike all the other times, the anger wasn't growing somewhere inside of him, underneath the ice. No, this time he was actually lashing out and Bill quickly spoke up.

"I'm not upset about this, Draco. I'm upset that you didn't tell me you were getting disowned. I would have helped you; you didn't have to resort to this."

Draco was silent.

"Why didn't you tell me, Draco?"

Draco shrugged, but the motion seemed to pain him. "You were busy with Ron," he said.

"So you didn't want to bother me," said Bill.

"Yeah. That."

"Draco, look at me."

Bill waited until Draco's glazed silver eyes were at least turned in the direction of his. Draco wasn't exactly focusing that well.

"Draco, you are like a brother to me," he said. "I think of you the way I think of Ron and Charlie and all the rest. I want to know when something like this happens to you, alright?"

"Yeah," Draco muttered looking away, but Bill could tell, by the way Draco seemed uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed, the words had stuck.

"So, why didn't you tell me?"

"I already told you," said Draco. "Didn't want to bother you."

"I don't believe that was the whole reason. Come on, what made you lie to me about this?"

"I didn't lie. Just led you to assume."

"Which is the same thing as lying. You deliberately didn't want me to know, so what was the reason."

"I don't know."

"Draco, I will stay right here all day if you don't tell me."

"Because you wouldn't understand!" Draco blurted.

It was another falsehood, because Draco would never utter such a clichéd, teenage expression, but Bill went along with it.

"I wouldn't understand?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"What wouldn't I understand?"

Silence.

"Draco, tell me."

Silence.

"Are you ashamed that you used the drugs?"

Draco scoffed. "I used once. Big deal."

"Big deal? Draco, look at you. You're higher than a Firebolt. You don't even know what you're saying."

Draco grew angry at that remark.

"I don't know what I'm saying?" he retorted. "I'll have you know that even when I'm high on illegal drugs, I'm still three times as smart as you. Do you know what I see when I'm like this? I see mathematical equations and atoms. I hear symphonies being composed into different keys and I see poetry brought to life. I can see what music looks like."

"And yet you had me throw away your drugs because you're afraid you'll take more. If it's so amazing, why are you so scared of it?"

Draco looked away, his fingers blundering through their pattern.

"Look at you, you can't even tap your fingers," said Bill. "You know that this isn't good for you, that you can't think or do anything when you're like this, so don't try to tell me that it's okay for you. Don't try to fool me with that excuse. Tell me the truth."

Draco sighed. "Do you know what Lord Draco said to me that last time I talked to him?"

"What did he say?"

"He said that one day I wasn't going to be prepared to fight the drugs, and that's where he would be. Waiting for that day. You know I'm always right, so he's always right."

"So this was what? Some sort of twisted self-fulfilling prophecy?"

"Something like it."

"Draco, worst fears are supposed to say things like that. Besides, you've spent your whole life trying to prove Lord Draco wrong. Don't tell me that he convinced you."

Draco fell silent again, looking at the floor. Bill sighed and sat down in front of Draco.

"Draco, what was so bad about telling me? Do you trust me that little?"

Draco shook his head, not meeting his gaze.

"That what was it?"

Draco's fingers blundered again through the pattern.

"Draco," said Bill softly.

"I didn't want to tell you," came the quiet answer.

Bill frowned. Why hadn't-? "Why not?" he asked, and some of the surprised hurt crept through his voice. And even when he was high, Draco still picked up on it.

"It's not you," he said. "It's me."

"What's you?"

"If I told you about it, then I would have to deal with it, and I would have to think about it, and I just wanted it to be over."

Bill immediately understood. Draco was so closed off to his emotions, so hesitant to actually open himself up to them, that he would keep himself closed off just so other people wouldn't bring it up, so that he could wrap up the wound and forget about it, so that one stray comment couldn't pick open the scab.

"Draco, you can't keep hiding things like that. You can't just shove things aside and think that it's over because it will just come back and torment you."

Draco scoffed, but Bill pressed on.

"You didn't just get high because you got disowned, did you?"

Draco didn't answer. That meant Bill was right.

"You got high because of a bunch of other things you didn't deal with, isn't that right?"

No answer; Bill wasn't really expecting one.

"You can't keep pushing emotions back like that Draco. You have to face them."

Draco let his head drop to his hands and Bill had to remind himself that although he was ready to have a little heart to heart, Draco was still high and not in a position to listen to a lecture. Even if Draco was sober-minded, it still wasn't the right time. Not now when so much had happened. It was no wonder that the kid, who didn't cope with emotions well in the first place, was so overwhelmed.

He watched as Draco took in a breath and released it. He then stared at something only he was aware of.

"What are you seeing now?" he asked.

"Chemical bonding on the molecular level."

Bill shook his head. "Of course you are. I do have to say though, I think Lord Draco is more of a fun druggie than you."

"He's not going through withdrawal."

Bill frowned, suddenly worried. "Already?"

"I only took one dose, so yeah."

"Is it bad?"

"Not yet, just a migraine."

"How bad is it going to be?"

"Lock me in a room."

"That bad?"

"Yeah."

"Alright then, come on."

Bill got to his feet and then grabbed Draco's arms, pulling him up. Draco swayed once he was standing and Bill grabbed his shoulders, holding him upright.

"You okay there, Draco?"

Draco nodded, but his gaze was clouded again, and not with a hallucination.

"Draco?"

Draco swallowed hard and blinked a few times. His expression remained glazed and he shook his head, obviously trying to clear his mind. That threw him off balance and he swayed again, grabbing onto Bill's shoulder, and Bill tightened his grip in return.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, not liking the look on Draco's face.

Draco started to nod, but then seemed to think better of it. He shook his head, jaw clenching. Bill stepped closer, wrapping an arm carefully around the middle of Draco's back, underneath the burn. For the first time, Draco actually leaned into the hug, in need of the comfort this time, and too weary to pull away. Bill put all of the reassurance he could into that brief moment and then stepped away, knowing that Draco wasn't one to enjoy extended periods of close physical proximity.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

Draco frowned. "Where we going?"

"Home," said Bill.

"Where?"

"Here," said Bill, handing him the piece of paper Dumbledore had given him.

Draco read it. "No."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm high on an illegal potion and I'm going to spend the next few days in a room with a vanishing bucket."

"Exactly," said Bill. "I'm not a medi-witch and I want other people to be able to go for help if something goes wrong."

"Bill, no. I'm not going to go over there when I'm like this."

"Draco, you know how you don't want to contemplate on your emotions?"

"What about it?"

"That's why we have other people. So that when it gets too much, they can help."

"And this is what? A crash course in trust?"

"Something like it."

Draco still didn't look convinced so Bill spoke again.

"Sirius Black was disowned too. When he lost his signum, he got drunk. This is about the same."

Draco rolled his eyes and Bill helped him over the Floo. He threw on a bunch of Floo powder and called out 'Order of the Phoenix Headquarters'.

He didn't know that Draco was thinking, that very moment, of a nightmare he had where he was locked in the Veil room and everyone else had run through, except now it had a happier ending. In this version, Bill had come back through to help him to the other side.

Bill did know, however, that Draco took a breath before he stepped through, and that his grip on Bill's hand tightened.

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Hey, sorry about the wait. My laptop, Freddie, broke and I had to take him to the shop. But he's all better now.

And now, the Q and A on the next story.

I don't have a title just yet, but I do have the general outline. The first chapter will be up in three weeks, because I need to take a break. I'm sure you understand. In the next story Draco will be joining the Order and there will be lots of Draco/Ginny moments. Ginny may appear to be slightly cliché in the first few chapters, but that's just because she's got a crush on Draco and will be inserting herself in his life.

Also, Draco will be discovering a code that the Death Eaters are using, there will be a major death, Lord Draco will be making an appearance (because I love writing him), Draco and Ginny will start dating, and…umm, I think that's all I can say so far. A big thank you to all of my reviewers, I love you all! I'm sorry that I didn't respond to unanimous reviews here, but I'm exhausted. Good night!


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